A Bit Better
by VulpineBeesKnees
Summary: Finally.. Things are going to get better.. We promise. You should read part one and two first, A Bit Not Good and A Bit Worse.
1. Bring Me to Life

**If you haven't read part 1 and 2 you may want to go read those first... **

**Part 1 - A Bit Not Good**

**Part 2 - A Bit Worse**

Sherlock was dead.

After three years of waiting and the hell they had both been through since his return he was irrecoverably dead. John could feel himself gasping for breaths as he rocked against Sherlock's chest. Everything he had done to keep him alive, and John had been powerless to help him.

At some point he started muttering incoherently into the other's chest, begging for him to not be dead, for it to be a trick again. John became so distraught in his state he didn't notice the gentle hand that covered his weeping shoulder until a gasping breath lifted the chest beneath his cheek.

"John why on earth are you carrying on like that?"

A cough rattled through Sherlock's body as he attempted to sit up. Discovering he lacked both the strength and drive, he relaxed back down into the mattress.

"Sher-?"

The name caught in Johns throat as he pulled away, thoroughly startled. His eyes blinked rapidly in confusion.

"You're alive?"

His hands skirted across Sherlock's skin as he spoke, feeling his pulse in various locations, his neck, wrists, and finally one hand settled over his heart, tan fingers splayed out over the pale chest. His brows furrowed and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, this time in relief.

"It appears so... Thinking back now, it would be unlikely for Moriarty to actually put my life in danger with Mary and Seb already dead... Perhaps this was meant to scare me into following him had I let you die and him live... It all seems so clear now... Why I didn't think of it before is beyond me.. Perhaps I wanted to think the worst to keep from being disappointed if I expected the best and it was the other way round..." He looked up from his rant and slowed as he took in John's state.

The last thing he could remember was asking for tea, the rest of it was mostly images and fleeting emotions. His hand moved up to gently slide over John's fingers and hold them tight.

"Hush now." He cooed softly, "I'm alright, as you have seen so thoroughly yourself. Now help me sit up." Not even alive five minutes and he was already being his pushy self again.

"It must have been some slow acting sedative, one that makes your heart stop for an undisclosed amount of time. I did feel a jolt as I woke. Perhaps a hidden time released center of adrenaline. They could certainly concentrate enough in the center of a capsule to restart ones heart... The tricky part is making sure the body continues to digest even after death. Hmmm I must ponder on this more later John..."

John barely heard the explanation, his mind too dazed to really absorb anything. Quickly he pulled the detective up into his arms, he didn't realize he was rocking slightly, nor did he hear the door open downstairs.

After nearly smothering him to death, _again_, John pushed him back to the bed. "Did you ask why I was crying?" His mind finally catching up, slowly processing everything that had been said.

"Yes I did, however, I feel it necessary to inform you that Mycroft..." He paused a moment listening, "and Lestrade are coming up the stairs. I think covering myself might be a good idea."

He looked down at his naked body as if to make a point. "We can discuss this further later, for now I feel we must handle the situation at hand..." One arm came up to push John to his side and weakly slid his legs under the duvet and pulled it up over his chest as footsteps entered the sitting room.

Sherlock gave a small yawn, rolling his head to look at John and reaching out to pat his hand gently.

John's mind was still working in slow motion, but when he heard heavy footfalls making their way down the hall he hurried from the bed, sliding on his trousers, without pants, just as Mycroft softly knocked on the door. Grabbing one of Sherlock's flannels that had been tossed to the side and throwing it over himself John opened the door and slunk out into the hallway. He needed to talk to someone that was making sense.

Mycroft had already seen into the room, and he had seen his brother tucked into his bed as if he couldn't be bothered to die today.

"So it was a placebo then?" Mycroft seemed mildly surprised, if that. John reared back.

"No not exactly a placebo... Wait. You've gotta be kidding me! Am I the only one that didn't see this coming?" He was furiously buttoning up Sherlock's shirt with his good hand to hide the majority of the incriminating marks across his chest.

Mycroft shrugged minutely. "I had my doubts, but I decided to err on the side of caution." His head cocked to the side and his eyebrows raised slightly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line, as he shook his head. "And you?" He looked to Lestrade, the only man here that was supposed to be his friend before anything else. "Did you know as well? Let me go on believing he was dying? Again?!" He knew standing out in the hall had been a moot effort, it wasn't like Sherlock couldn't hear his every word.

"I had no idea he was even dying mate. I just thought he was being... Well you know, Sherlock." He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Mycroft wouldn't tell me anything, just said we needed to be over here in four hours and to expect the unexpected..."

He gave John a half shrug that clearly said, _They're Holmes' what can you do?_

"I should think you were relieved in my not passing John. Should I go about it some other way to appease you?" Came the snarky reply from the bedroom, "If you are all going to talk about me where I can hear you, you might as well come in here with me so I don't have to shout..."

Letting his head fall back, John let out a defeated sigh. Pushing the door open and stepping back into the small bedroom he gave Sherlock a soft smile. "Of course I'm relieved Sherlock. Just in shock is all."

His hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans and the flannel shirt hung awkwardly as he'd missed two buttons in his haste. John could sense the two men hovering behind him, one still worried, the other simply befuddled.

Stepping around John Mycroft moved towards the bed, absentmindedly fingering the various items that lined the shelves. He seemed completely unbothered that his brother was obviously naked beneath the covers, perhaps the fact that he was alive was enough, or maybe he simply didn't have any sense of privacy when it came to Sherlock. "We really should go back to the hospital brother. You may be alive, the pill obviously still served some sort of purpose. Not to mention the care the rest of your wounds need."

John brightened slightly as he looked at Mycroft, for once he wasn't the one telling Sherlock to take care of himself. Normally, of course, John cared for any injuries Sherlock acquired during their adventures, but currently John had a few problems of his own. His adrenaline and the lovely meds he'd been given at the hospital, were both wearing off, making him quite aware of his own battle wounds from the past few days.

"I'm fine..." The detective waved off his brother. He knew John would make him go eventually, but agreeing with something Mycroft had told him to do was far too complacent and dull.

"I feel a bit groggy, and tired, but aside from that nothing really feels out of the normal, I just want to be at home for now thanks..." He crossed his arms, keeping his injured one on top, and looked away from his brother as if to signal that the conversation was over.

"Is that true Sherlock? Or are you just afraid they'll keep you because of all the cocaine you've been taking?" Lestrade's voice seemed to ring out between them, and Sherlock's head snapped back in his direction, proving that yes that was very much a reason he didn't want to go. The younger man didn't say anything however and settled for a glare before turning away once more.

"Are you two quite finished mucking about in our lives?" He asked after a moment, "because I think there are things John and I need to discuss privately."

"There is one more thing," His brother said, sniffing arrogantly, "There is the matter of the murder of Irene Adler, Mary Moran, and Martin James Roy. I have no doubt that a court will render the death of Martin self defense, and technically there was no record of Irene Adler, but as for Mary Moran..." he trailed off, "We will do all we can to keep your name clear Sherlock, but it will be difficult to do so while you are strung out on drugs. You will need to cover your withdrawals as best you can."

"It will be a private hearing then?" Sherlock asked, seeming bored.

"Obviously." Mycroft looked toward John, his eyes silently demanding that he ensure Sherlock was properly cared for. John nodded shortly, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. Mycroft hesitated for a moment before turning on his heel and striding from the room without a word.

Lestrade hesitated, his jaw was set, obviously irritated with the whole situation. He shot Sherlock a glare before following after the older Holmes, muttering, "Keep me updated," to John without even looking at him.

After he heard the door to the sitting room close, a little harder than necessary, John returned to the bed. He didn't know how to act now, it had been simple before. Now Sherlock was alive, and he'd gone and acted as if it wasn't a good thing. Sitting on the edge so he was facing Sherlock his lips pulled to the side nervously.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. That wasn't... I was just shocked." His eyes met Sherlocks adamantly.

"Perhaps I should get you a blanket?" He interrupted, his voice sounded more irritated than he actually was, "For god's sake you've been thinking so loud my brain actually hurts, just come over here and shut up." His agitated fingers began tapping at the sheets nervously, the only tick that belied his addiction and how much the events had actually taken their toll on him.

"I don't feel like going anywhere just now, and I've lost a lot of blood and some friend of mine had gotten me used to sleeping normally before this all happened. I'd like to take a nap before the poking and prodding begins." His tone was haughty but it didn't hide the fact that the hand resting in the empty space beside him was an invitation for the soldier to join him.

Let out a heavy breath Johns shoulders relaxed. "Yeah alright." He said as he fell into the open space, his body fitting snugly against Sherlocks. John wasn't too well off himself, he was exhausted and his entire body ached, not to mention the emotional turmoil he had been through. "Don't think this is getting you out the_ poking and the prodding."_ He teased as he carefully situated himself so he wasn't putting too much pressure on his arm. His better hand lacing with Sherlock's as he stared up at the white ceiling.

His body relaxed, but his mind whirled. Moriarty was dead, Sherlock was alive. It was over, they were safe. And they had just had sex. There had been something between them before that of course, but this was Sherlock. Sherlock _marriedtomywork_ Holmes.

"So." John started, his voice just above a whisper, "You said we have things to discuss, or was that just to get your brother out of here?"

Sherlock allowed the doctor to cuddle up to him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders lightly. He would never tell him, but it was extremely comforting to feel the other's weary body against his own.

"It served more than one purpose. It did get my tedious brother to leave, and I assumed you would want to talk. All I can offer is to listen and input where I can. You of all people should know that emotions are one of my few weaknesses, talking about them even more so." His lithe fingers gently tapped against John's knuckles but their urgency was gone for the moment.

"You assumed right, but you always do..." His voice trailed off as he lowered his gaze, watching Sherlocks small movements against his hand. "I won't beat around the bush with it then. What are we?"

He turned his head so his nose was gently brushing Sherlock's cheek. His voice was level, and as emotionally stable as he could manage.

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. He felt like a child that had been given a question to answer that was far beyond his cognitive abilities. He'd spent all his life studying so that he never had to encounter this feeling, but nothing could have prepared him for such a loaded question.

It was obvious to him how much John had invested in his life and vice versa, and he'd never felt the overwhelming need to touch and protect someone as he did with John, but what did that make them? Boyfriends seemed like such a flamboyant and juvenile term in his mind, colleagues didn't really sum them up either. He supposed _partners_ or _significant others_were the terms of choice among homosexual males their age. But then again they didn't really fit into that category, as he was not generally sexually attracted to anyone, and John seemed to cling to the term straight like a life jacket. But the more he thought about it, the last two did seem to fit. They were partners, as John would follow him all over London if he asked, and even Anderson could tell John was significant to him.

However, he didn't say any of this for a long time, and when he finally spoke, he opted for something that would lighten the doctor's spirits and perhaps distract him from the heaviness of the day. The added bonus of frustrating John incessantly by being obstinate was a guilty pleasure of his.

"We'll John, if you must know, we are males of the genus homosapien. You are a retired Army doctor that inflicts his opinions upon the unsuspecting world through your blog, and I am the most brilliant mind of my time. However I settle for the modest role of consulting detective."

He wasn't looking at John and he was finding his typical emotionless expression harder to come by than usual. He bit the inside of his lip to discourage the corners of his mouth from curling up.

Giving Sherlock a gentle shove, mindful of both their injuries, John turned away, looking back at the blank ceiling. "You would say that." He muttered irritably. His lips quirked to the side as he tried to think of something that wouldn't provoke such a snarky response.

John knew what he wanted to ask, it was forming the words that was posing the problem.

"Do you remember everything? Before you... lost consciousness I mean." John had told the bloody man that he loved him, and he was making jokes about them being homosapiens. Johns fingers fidgeted in Sherlock's hand as he stared at pointedly at the ceiling.

Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief at John's slight change of topic. He knew the bugger would get back around to it eventually. It was his way, figuring out how to work his way back up to the questions he wanted answering without Sherlock realizing it sometimes.

"I remember sending you away to make tea, because I could tell whatever I took was starting to break down. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, and I didn't think you'd want to see projectile vomit or intense bleeding if it came to that. I remember being, hot, then cold, and then hearing glass break." His eyebrows knit together as the picture became foggier in his mind, like a dream. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples in attempt to catch the tails slipping through his fingers.

"I remember your hands on my face, and you were saying something.. but I can't hear it in my mind." he let his hands fall back to their place as he let the memory swim away from him finally, "And I remember saying something clever, and then numbness..." he trailed off as if the fact that he couldn't recall specifics were truly devastating to him.

Trying not to sound disappointed John moved on, again letting the unresolved issue lie yet again. Sherlock didn't remember, and for all John knew, that might be for the best. Choosing his words carefully, his eyes never faltering as he began to see shapes in the uneven surface of the ceiling above him, John continued.

"And everything that happened before that... Was that..." He stuttered slightly, "Would that have happened had you not been drugged?" Part of John really wasn't sure, Sherlock had been faced with death, or what they thought was his death, and he'd been high off of cocaine for the better part of a day. Yes Sherlock had kissed him at the Christmas Party, but now they had crossed into completely foreign territory. Even John was a bit lost emotionally.

Their relationship had already been an enigma to him, but he had been growing to accept it, no matter how new and different it was. But this was different. He was at a loss.

"Would I have engaged in sexual intercourse with you?" Sherlock thought for a long moment on how best to answer that question. If he had not known he was going to die, would he have pressed things the way he did? Would he have rushed into that physical aspect of a relationship?

Letting his eyes slip closed and his head loll sideways to rest on John's, he finally decided to speak. "If I had not thought I was going to die, I would not have... instigated things to that level." He took a deep breath and fell silent again. He could feel the tension growing thick in the air, felt John's muscles tensing at his response, and realized that he might have been a bit too vague that time.

"John do not misunderstand me." he pulled away finally, and moved so that he was looking into John's eyes, his gaze calm and unwavering. "I do not regret what we did. But look at it logically from my point of view. I have suspected for a long time that things were... changing between us. The dynamic was different, we were closer, and more intimate, but I knew you weren't ready to face it. Then I let them talk me into pushing you into a corner underneath the plastic plant... and you ran away from me. Then you got yourself kidnapped and I had to traipse all over London to find you. If that all happened from one kiss when you weren't ready... to scale the entire earth might have been destroyed if I'd pressed you further. Perhaps the earth is too dramatic, but my world at least, would have been destroyed."

In that moment his eyes were serious. What he was saying sounded juvenile, but when he thought about it logically it made negative reaction to pressuring John into a kiss was already so drastic, taking things further would have meant annihilation of everything they'd strived to accomplish since he'd returned from his three year death jaunt.

"But…" John started, his brow furrowing as he met Sherlock's gaze, "We've gone far beyond a kiss under the mistletoe Sherlock, and as far as I can tell the earth still seems to be rotating. So we went farther, and our world didn't collapse..." He took a breath, his eyes cutting away from Sherlocks finally. "I only meant to go for a walk you know. What Moriarty did, that wasn't an effect of you kissing me. It wasn't that I didn't want the kiss. If that wasn't already evident, I rather enjoyed it up until the point that, you know, it ended and I had to face everyone."

Sherlock had been so worried about protecting John, easing him into whatever insane relationship they had formed, that he seemed to have failed to realize John did want this as much, if not more, as he did.

"At the time I had no evidence to suggest that you were feeling the same attachment I was other than my own inference, and you and I both know that social grace is not my forte. To further argue my point, it was because of my supposed imminent death that you were ready to take such a step with me, where areas, at the christmas party I can only assume you were still wildly confused about whether you were gay or whether it was just me you were attracted to. Therefore my logic is still sound that had you not been ready, I would not have instigated such things, because as you say, that would have been... tell me would it have been rude or selfish?" He waved off the question as if it really didn't matter, the results were the same.

"And if you are worried that my actions were merely the side effects of a drug induced high then clearly you are not as versed in your knowledge of me as you seem to think." A hand reached out and brushed a thumb against John's cheek.

"I am no waxing poetic John. I'm barely good with words that a typical passerby can understand. All I know is that for my entire life the thought of touching someone for anything other than gathering information was repulsive. I once retched after a girl in university hugged me on a whim. Something about you makes me want to seek out your touch John. I'm sure even you can infer the magnitude of confusion and inexperience this revelation has thrust upon me."

Covering Sherlock's hand with his own John pressed his cheek into the others palm. "This is confusing for me too Sherlock. I don't expect anything different out of you." John found he was much more relaxed now that Sherlock had suddenly opened up so much. "I was scared before, unrightly so honestly, but I was. It wasn't that I was worried about being gay or not, I knew I had feelings for you, that wasn't the issue. I just didn't know how to be open about that fact when I have identified as a straight soldier my entire adult life. I still don't know I guess, but I do know I want... something... I don't expect you to be my _boyfriend_," He put an emphasis on the term that made it obvious he was not interested in it at all. "Hell I don't want you to be any different than you are... But we've already crossed a line, and I don't know where that leaves us." He realized he'd been rambling slightly, probably making things even more confusing for Sherlock.

"I just want to know what you want Sherlock. Do you want this? A relationship?"

John chewed at his lip, his expression open and curious all at once.

Sherlock didn't want to answer. He didn't want to peg this down and call it something he wasn't even sure if it was. He wanted to spend the rest of his life running with John. Thoughts of what they'd done earlier filled his mind and he decided he'd like more of that too if given the chance. But as his eyes slipped down over John, taking in his haggard face, the bandages on his arms, he couldn't help but think that being close to Sherlock was not something that was necessarily safe or sane for John to want. Perhaps it was the loneliness that had driven them together. Maybe there really was something there, but the detective was not about to lay down any kind of boundaries. He would leave his request open, so that if anything happened, there would always be an out.

"Why do we have to have a definite answer?" He asked, his mind racing to think of how to word this right, "Why can't we just learn about it together?" He rubbed a hand over his brow in frustration, he hated talking about emotions, it always made him feel so juvenile.

"Obviously we both enjoyed our sexual encounter earlier. It would have been difficult to proceed with it had that not been the case. I enjoy your company, you generally enjoy mine, and we already sleep together to keep nightmares at bay. Why not just... what is that phrase... 'let the waves take us out to sea' I don't know..." he looked at John almost desperately, needing him to understand his meaning

Nodding a little too vigorously John offered Sherlock a half smile. "We don't need a definite answer, I just needed to know that we were on the same page here. That's fine, it's all fine." He thought about asking about them being exclusive, but dismissed the thought. Like Sherlock had said, this wasn't something he did.

So they would play it by ear, John was fine with that. They were best friends, flatmates, shagbuddies... John had to stop his mind there, it wasn't really helping him come to terms. Something deep in his mind reminded him that Sherlock wouldn't get better at talking about his emotions. This limbo could become their normal.

Pushing the thought away quickly John nuzzled in closer, determined to carry on now that things were settled, or as settled as they would be. "We're supposed to be taking a nap aren't we?" He pulled Sherlock against him softly, tugging on his fingers until the detectives body was draped behind his.

Sherlock nodded softly, his mind still in a whirlwind of insecurities.

"Yes... we were weren't we..." His fingers were pulled so that his arms were wrapped around John's chest, instinctually pulling him in and threading a long leg over and back through John's. For the first time in several days, Sherlock felt a semblance of peace fall over him. His arms rested low on John's hips and suddenly he was very aware of three things. He was very naked, John was very not, and the doctor was wearing the detective's plaid shirt.

Sighing readily, he blew hot air against the doctor's ear as his hand tugged lazily at one of the buttons low on the shirt, close to the top of his jeans. He only spoke one word to convey what he wanted.

"Off..."

The breath on his ear mingled with the command made a shiver run down Johns spine. He rolled his shoulders against the detective and chuckled softly as small hairs along the base of his neck stood up. "Oh.. Not up for sharing?" He teased as his hand found hold on the buttons of the shirt, essentially halting Sherlocks efforts.

"You're a little overdressed," He grumbled, fingers pressing underneath the shirt and fingering over his ribs like the strings of his violin. Softly, he let his fingers drift upwards, moving up over the tight muscles beneath warm skin. He hummed approvingly when his fingers reached the hollow of John's throat, and started the slow slide back down. Closing his eyes he let his fingers massage small circles back down until they slid across John's lower abdomen, fingers brushing against his beltline.

"I don't really want to get chafed while we're sleeping either." His thumb hooked in the front of the man's jeans and popped the button. "So I repeat. Off."

John was beginning to realize just how intoxicating Sherlock's voice could be. His breath hitched for a second as the command was repeated, this time he didn't hesitate. His fingers were fumbling with the buttons of the flannel quickly and soon enough he was shimmying out of the denim trousers, determined to lose the garments without pulling away from the detective.

Sherlock's body felt comfortably warm next to his. The skin on skin contact was still deliciously new and exciting. "Better?" He quipped lacing his hand back through Sherlocks.

His fingers threaded through John's, pulling him tight against his body, his hips fitting right against the swell of the John's backside. His leg slipped between John's and his nose tucked behind the other's ear.

"That's better." he said, a sigh brushing down the back of the smaller man's neck, "Get better soon so I don't have to go to the hospital." His thumb brushed over the back of a hand as he settled in for some much needed sleep.

**A/N: **Yeah okay.. we lied. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, we will be updating every sunday for now. Enjoy =)


	2. Closing Time

Sherlock swore that Mycroft would be the death of him. Somehow, the man had known exactly when and where John was dragging him to be treated, and had showed up just as the nurse slipped out to get the phlebotomist to run an IV. They wanted to keep Sherlock overnight to flush his body of toxins and monitor his levels. Of course, Sherlock swore up and down that John could do that from the flat but the nurse just smiled sweetly and patted his hand like he was an oversized lap dog.

He'd looked to John for help but the doctor hadn't seemed to take his side either and so he resorted to pouting. When his brother walked in, minus the labrador like DI that was usually in tow these days, he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"As if my day couldn't get any worse, you decided to burden us with your presence." He grumbled but even the insult was half hearted.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at his younger brother before turning to John. "I assume you're both doing well then?"

Most of John's injuries had been treated when they'd been rushed to the hospital the first time round, so this visit had been all about Sherlock. He was leaning back in one of the hospital chairs, his bandaged on arms crisp and clean, just replaced. Chuckling softly John nodded, "Yeah we're fine. Turns out there was no real permanent damage to either of us, nothing of consequence anyways." Though Sherlock had made it very clear scars were permanent and did count. Jerking his head toward the miffed ginger he continued, "He's just a little worked up right now. They're still working everything out of his system."

That was an understatement. The couple had slept for close to eleven hours when John awoke from Sherlock writhing in his sleep, and as soon as John had woke him it became evident he was going through withdrawals. Surprisingly it had been easier to convince Sherlock to go to the hospital in this state, his mind too addled to coherently voice his refusal.

Cocking his head to the side Mycroft gave John a look that could only be seen as condescending. "Honestly John? And you think he'd be more amiable if he was in good health?" Shaking his head he turned back to Sherlock.

"They recovered Moriarty's body from the Thames, it washed up on shore a little ways down. A full autopsy has been performed, and it appears the man was plagued by Alzheimers, that of course explains the sudden need to find the best and brightest." Mycroft said this as if it was basic knowledge, John popped up from his chair to stand beside the elder Holmes, looking back

and forth between the two.

"What do you mean? The man was a lunatic, how does that explain anything?" John's brows pinched together slightly as he waited for one of them to explain.

"It means John," Sherlock said, as if explaining why two and two together was four, "that his mind would have deteriorated slowly, effectively losing his mind piece by piece. I'm sure you can imagine what that would do to someone with a mind like mine." Sherlock swallowed at the unintentional comparison to himself and covered his uncomfort by rolling his eyes as if John was the most daft man in the world.

"He wanted to find someone to carry on his legacy. He wanted someone as cunning and ruthless as himself to continue on the name of Moriarty and the consulting criminal. But, on the other hand, if things ended with a less than expected result, at least he was dying his way and not slowly slipping away. That would be a horrible way to die." He suppressed a shudder, and finally looked back at the two.

"If that's all you came for Mycroft, I think John is company enough for me up here. You would have them keep me an extra two days if you could and I won't be having any of that." He crossed his arms like a petulant child and glared at his brother through half lidded eyes. Just then there was a knock on the door.

"I'm here to put in your IV Mr. Holmes!" Came a bright voice from the cracked hospital door. Sherlock looked at John, his eyebrows drawn together and lips curved down slightly. Do I really have to do this? However, when he found no sympathy, he sighed and called for the nurse to come in.

As the young woman bustled in and began preparing the IV Mycroft gave Sherlock a placating smile. "I came by to check on you brother, make sure you were being taken care of. I wouldn't dream of making your stay any longer than necessary. Might be considered cruel and unusual punishment to the poor staff." The young woman stopped and stared between the men for a moment, slightly caught off guard by the statement. Sherlock simply threw out his arm, desperate for it to all be over.

Unperturbed Mycroft went on in the same bored drawl. "You know Mummy heard of everything that happened... She's very worried. When you are free of this place I must insist you go visit her."

John who had been watching the phlebotomist out of habit, making sure she was mindful of the damage already there in the crook of his arm, popped up at this. He had only met 'Mummy Holmes' once before, and under rather terrible circumstances. "That would be lo-"

"Absolutely not." He said, cutting off John's words. Sherlock wasn't looking at either of them, instead he was staring out the window. "As much as mummy wants to see me I doubt she wants to see her son strung out on drugs. No. Absolutely not. Not until I'm..." He trailed off trying to think of the right word.

"Better." He finished flatly.

"I will hold you to that." Mycroft deadpanned before giving John a small nod and turning on his heel from the room. If possible the girl now adjusting the IV bags looked even more nervous with Mycroft gone.

John waited the few extra seconds as she finished and rushed out after Mycroft, muttering to call the nurses if we needed anything. Once it was just him and Sherlock he stepped closer, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I know it's not the best circumstances, but I'm sure she'd really like to see you." His brow furrowed as he met defiant green eyes.

"I mean did she even know that you weren't dead the past three years? When was the last time you saw her?" John knew it had to have been before his 'death', even if she'd known Sherlock wouldn't have risked seeing anyone. He didn't know the woman very well but she had been incredibly kind to him and John felt they owed her that much.

Sherlock let out a small growl of irritation as he ran his hands through his hair, bandaged fingers on his left hand making it difficult for him. When he had calmed a little, he returned his attention to John. His eyes were sharp and irritated, but there was a small warmth beneath it, belying that he appreciated Johns concern, even just minimally.

"John, I know you have this incessant need to talk about every small detail but I do not want to talk about this now. My decision is final." He looked away again, tried to cross his arms and grew frustrated again when he couldn't because of the IV. He settled for steepling them under his chin and tried to calm his irate mind.

John's mouth opened, as if he might try and argue, gearing up to present the case for letting his mother come see him and cut his line of thinking without even opening his eyes. "John, don't pester me, I'm sick, look I've got an IV and everything..."

Shaking his head John snapped his jaw closed, he'd drop the subject, for now. It probably wasn't best to engage Sherlock at this point anyways. Dragging the closest chair over to sit beside the white hospital cot John settled in for the evening. He pulled out a tattered novel, the same one he'd been reading the night Sherlock had turned up on the stoop. Odd as it was things finally seemed to be falling into place.

Doctors came in and out checking on Sherlock, the nurses made their rounds observing his vitals and asking him about the pain and symptoms, and after a long time, Sherlock seemed to be relaxing. His eyes were beginning to drift when he finally shifted over on his side to watch the doctor read.

"You've not finished it yet." It was more of a statement than a question.

Peeking over the top of his book a wry smile found its way to John's lips. "I've been a bit busy as of late, so no I hadn't finished."

"Read to me?" The slight questioning tone at the end was only to keep it from sounding like a demand as he pillowed his head on one hand, the other extended to keep the IV from digging into his veins. His eyes were heavy, but he wanted to hear John's voice as he drifted off. He'd spent too much time worrying he'd never hear it again to spend the rest of his time in silence.

Letting the book drop slightly he studied Sherlock carefully. "You sure?" The book was a Hercule Poirot mystery novel, something Sherlock was sure to deduce a few pages in and berate John for spending time with in the first place. He was holding the book open with his thumb, cradling the spine in his hand. Letting the hand holding up the book drop to his lap he leaned forward a bit, his free hand reaching for the remote on the other side of Sherlock. "I can turn on the telly if it's too quiet."

"John." he stopped the hand as it reached across him, catching it with the one not tucked beneath his head, "If I had wanted the telly on, I would have said so." He wasn't looking at the blonde, his eyes were closed as if he didn't have the strength to keep them open anymore as he pulled the hand back down against the mattress.

"I've asked for you to read to me. If you do not wish to, you merely have to say so." His fingers curled over John's slightly, unwilling to break the contact just yet, "However if you refuse, know I will bother you until you do."

John's lips quirked to the side slightly in amusement, the familiar snarky attitude was almost reassuring at this point. Lacing his fingers up through Sherlock's he flipped back to the first page and began reading and after no time John could see him relaxing, his fingers laxed in John's and his brow softened. He was happy to take him away from the dreary hospital room, even if it was just for a short while.

The timbre of John's voice had almost instantly put the detective into a dreamy half sleep, and he felt the fingers tighten around his when John thought he had fallen into slumber. He was glad to hear him continue to read anyway, and felt his lips curling upwards. He didn't have the consciousness to stop it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. So, with John reading aloud to him and their fingers twined together, Sherlock fell into his first dreamless sleep since waking up Christmas Eve morning.

...

"John I am not an invalid! I can quite manage the stairs on my own without you coddling me!"

The detective shook John's hand off his arm and burst through the door to 221B and gulped down the familiar smell of books and chemicals. Carefully he slipped his coat off of his arms and hung it up on the peg next to his belstaff and ran his fingers along the edge of the bandage they'd placed on his burn. He'd contracted an infection while in the hospital thank to his immune system being practically as exhausted as he had been due to the cocaine. They'd kept him for two more days until the infection had been cleared. He had almost murdered someone out of boredom.

John had been his only saving grace, bringing books to read him and card games that usually ended with Sherlock tossing the cards across the room. Now he sank into his familiar chair and relaxed bonelessly into the familiar feel of it for a moment before lifting his violin from where it sat near the bookshelf. He was tuning it lovingly when John finally made it through the door with the small bag of supplies and medicine that the hospital had sent home with them. Gauze for both of their injuries, and a long list of tablets for Sherlock to take to help aid him in the coming months through his addiction and to deal with the lingering infection.

"Now all I need is a cup of tea." he mused more to himself than John as his fingers ran up and down the strings, plinking out a familiar tune.

Leaving the bags on the sofa John moved to his own chair, falling into it softly. "May I refer to your previous statement?" John quipped as he leaned back, watching Sherlock carefully as he tried to place the melody, "What was it? 'I am not an invalid.' " he mimicked playfully, slipping off his shoes. John knew in the end he would go make tea for the both of them, and he didn't mind, because that was their normal.

He watched Sherlock for a moment more before giving up on placing the tune and standing again to make the tea. His own injuries were healing with little difficulties, the worst being the deep gash running up his right arm. The hospital had stitched it up, all he had to do really was keep the dressings clean now. Still as he walked he kept the arm bent close to his chest instinctively. Opening the fridge John let out a sad sigh, muttering to himself softly about never having milk as he turned away to turn on the electric tea pot.

Preparing their cups so all that was needed was the water, John leaned against the counter, gazing back out into the sitting room. He considered saying something, asking about what it was Sherlock was playing, how he was feeling, but decided against it. Instead he simply watched, basking in the fact that they were home. As hard as the next few months would prove to be, it was finally all over.

The plinking stopped and Sherlock looked up to find John watching him. It had been a while since he'd been under the scrutiny of the smaller man's gaze in such a relaxed setting, and it made his chest flush to find himself being watched with such an intensity. His fingers stretched out over the neck of the violin, and he attempted to pluck a few more notes before he put it away..

The past few days had left little time to talk or act on their new found relationship. Now, as he sat here, watching John watching him, he realized that he wanted nothing more than to have the doctor pliant under his hands again. Was this a typical human response after such extremes?

He supposed so, and if not, John was sure to comment on it when he acted upon the desire. He tried his best to keep the lust out of his eyes as he cocked his head to the side and let the corner of his lips lift in a semblance of a smile. He'd let the doctor come to him, he'd seem less eager that way, and eager was the last thing he wanted John to assume he was.


	3. The Best Thing

**A/N: **There is smut... that is all

...

John didn't look away, contented to stare back at Sherlock in comfortable silence, until he heard the tea beginning to boil. Finally tearing his eyes away he poured the piping hot water over the tea bags, swirling them through the liquid by the string, willing them to steep faster. After a couple minutes he removed the bags, added to sugar to one cup, resolved to drink his own black, and headed for the sitting room. Setting his own cup next to his armchair he looked back to Sherlock and took a few quick steps so he was standing just inches from the green chair. He silently held out the steaming cup out to the detective who had been watching him so intently.

Sherlock had watched John make tea a hundred times before, but this time it seemed different. Not only was Sherlock impatient but he could see the tell tale signs that John was too. That thought alone made everything more interesting, and when the blonde finally closed the distance, he had to fight to keep the smirk off of his face. When he took the cup, his fingers brushed along John's knuckles, but his eyes never broke contact as he set it aside. Once both hands were free, they raised to John's hips, squeezing lightly once they found purchase there. He gave a soft pull, drawing the smaller man into his lap and consequently into his arms. They looped easily around John's broad shoulders, and long fingers began softly kneading at the muscles.

"We're alone now."

John's own hands fell to grip Sherlock's hips softly as he nestled his nose against the detective's neck, his lips finding purchase there for a moment before he responded. "I may not be the world's only consulting detective, but I did manage to notice that we're finally alone."

Desire was quickly pooling at the pit of John's stomach as his lips brushed up the side of Sherlock's neck and along his jaw, not stopping long in any one spot. Tugging the edge of the flannel shirt up on one side John teased the soft skin where his hip dipped inward with his thumb. Brushing his nose against Sherlock's he spoke again, his voice deep, altered by his own desires, "Are you bored already? Perhaps I should go find cluedo?"

"Don't you dare." he growled, his eyes flying open to narrow his eyes at John. A hand snaked up to thread through the older man's hair, tipping his head back forcefully so Sherlock could nip sharply on the hollow of his throat.

"Fortunately I have someone to keep my boredom at bay. Tell me John, is it my turn to play doctor?" he drug his lips up to the blonde's ear, "Do I get to strip you down and examine you?" His tongue traced the shell of John's ear as the hand on his hip slid around to the small of his back to rock their hips together.

John let out a soft groan before bearing down into the soft cushion with his knees to work open the flannel shirt. This proved to be more difficult than he'd expected as his fingers fumbled with the buttons. The heat of Sherlock's mouth working it's way across his skin was almost too distracting, but he managed.

Soon enough John had worked open the soft purple shirt and pushed it from detectives shoulders. Sitting back he admired Sherlock, greedily letting his eyes dance across his body before dipping back down against his neck, softly and biting at the skin softly, working his way up until their lips met.

John tried to keep things slow, he really did. The last time had been so desperate and fleeting he figured it was only right that they slowed down.

It didn't work.

Something about the insanity of the past week made any logical thought disappear as their kiss deepened. His hands worked their way back down Sherlock's chest, one slipping around his back to pull their bodies closer together as the other fell back to his hip. John let his fingers skirt along the waistband of Sherlock's jeans, brushing at the sensitive skin suggestively as his tongue ran across the others lower lip.

"Whenever you're ready, doctor." John finally murmured against Sherlock's lips with a soft chuckle. He hadn't taken Sherlock for one to play games like this, but he had to admit he was quite enjoying it.

Sherlock hummed contentedly before his fingers slid up and over John's shoulders. The war of eagerness and desire to take things slow waging within John was obvious, and he smirked as his long fingers popped the first button agonizingly slow.

"What am I treating you for?" He asked, fingertips slowly tracing down the exposed skin to the next button. A soft noise, almost a groan, escaped John's lips as he realized Sherlock's intent, but he continued the slow process, popping each button through with his thumb as he came across them.

"An upset stomach, or perhaps chest pains?" Once he'd made it all the way to John's trouser line, he pulled the shirt free, and let his fingers curl around his sides, warm hands slipping beneath the fabric.

His lips began to assault John's collar bones, nipping and sucking small lovemarks around the dark ones already there. "It looks like you've been abusing your body. These marks are dark..." He nipped playfully at one of the bruises and soothed it with his tongue, "you need to take better care of yourself." His words were a feather light whisper against one dusty rose nipple before his tongue came out to trace the hardened nub.

John rolled head back and arched his back, his body desperate for more. Between sharp breaths he managed to mutter, "Great deduction." He was halted as Sherlock moved to the other side of his chest, teasing the other nipple hard. The sudden sparks of pleasure caused John to shudder slightly before he could speak again.

"Was rather hoping you'd take care of me." His words dripped with implication as he rolled his hips against the detectives, toying with the button of trousers with one hand.

A low noise rolled through Sherlock's chest, he knew John was asking for so much more than his immediate needs, and luckily he was saved from answering too deeply by the hand fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans.

"If I'm to take care of you, you have to let me work." He muttered, brushing the hand away and capturing both of them with his left, clasping them together in the small of his back. John wriggled softly, surprised by the sudden dominance, but Sherlock was quick to answer his wordless question, "Can't have you interfering with my exam now can we?" His tone was light, but his eyes burned with intense passion as he returned to nibbling his way down John's rib cage, slowly pushing John back as he did so. When he reached his belt line, a warm tongue ran just under the edge of John's jeans before pushing against his back and arms, enticing him to sit up on his knees.

He groaned as John more than willingly complied. His right hand came up and flicked the button open easily, tugging the zipper down with a little more urgency than the lazy kisses he'd been giving before. John leaned his head back, letting out a soft moan. His member seemed to strain forward, begging for the detective's attention. Attention he had every intention of bestowing.

"Why John I didn't know you could be so excited by so little." He murmured, his eyes taking in the sight of his erection as it slipped through the slit in his pants, positively dripping with need, "I had expected more resilience from you..." His last snarky dig was given, and he surged forward slightly, taking the head of John's cock into his mouth, eager for the experimenting to begin. Sherlock knew people assumed, if he were sexual at all, he would be a selfish lover, but his desire to be flawless did not stop with his deductions.

Lips parted, John's head tipped forward watching in awe. Their eyes met for a moment before Sherlock's fell closed, humming seductively against the others member. All thoughts of their game faded from Johns mind as the detectives tongue swirled around the sensitive glan.

Writhing in Sherlocks grasp John drew his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down harder than entirely necessary. The detectives eyes flitted up again watching Johns reaction as his cheeks hollowed, slowly taking in his length.

The reaction was instantaneous. "Jesus Sherlock," he moaned slowly, forcing his hips to still even as his body begged him to press forward into that delicious moist heat.

Not able to resist the taunt, the detective flattened his hand against John's pelvis, his thumb and forefinger encircling the shaft tightly as he pulled his mouth from it with a small pop.

"Just Sherlock will do." His tone was light, and he looked up into John's face, their eyes locked as his fingers gripped the base, delivering a long delicious stroke up the hardened flesh. A pink tongue came out to swipe some stray saliva from his lower lip as he gauged John's reactions, fingers changing slightly in grip and position until he found one that made John positively putty in his hands.

Finally, his left released John's wrists in favor of sliding the denim down over his backside, and in a spontaneous move, he wrapped his left arm around his back and his right arm under one thigh as he pushed him down to the floor. A simple rock of their weight and he was on top of the soldier, splitting his legs around his hips and nipping at his ribs, fingers still lazily stroking him. Entranced by the attention John lay back, silent and still, his limbs splayed out on the floor as his chest rose and fell shakily.

Kissing his way back up to his ear, Sherlock laved over the flesh, letting the smaller man hear the harsh pants that were coming from him now before he spoke. "I want to find out what makes you tick John. I want to open you up and discover how you function..." He inwardly chuckled at himself, the dirty talk of a genius was interesting indeed.

Those words should not have had such an effect on John, but of course they did. He wasn't sure if it was the sultry tone or just knowing that all of Sherlock's attention was focused on him, but he shivered involuntarily all the same. He arched his neck back slightly, opening up the area to be explored, as he whispered, "Promise?" There hadn't been much forethought to the question, but John was finding the idea of the detective meticulously working out everything about him, likely things he wasn't even aware of, ridiculously alluring.

The detective smirked at the question, "Fact." He said simply letting his hands move from John's arousal to begin exploring. As he did, he murmured little things about how John likes his nipples played with, and how he could tell because of how loose he kept his clothing. "So you don't get aroused in public." He stated.

Yes, John thought to himself as the rapid deductions washed over him, having Sherlock's full attention was definitely something he could get used to. Realizing his hands were free he began exploring the detectives body. The stronger hand grazed down Sherlock's back, blindly tracing the soft scars he'd yet to explore but knew were there, while his weaker arm laced through the ginger hair. Gripping at it softly he pulled the younger man back slightly, placing a languid kiss to his lips.

Sherlock had kept up the string of deductions until he was pulled into a long kiss that sent his blood rushing through his veins. John's tongue in his mouth was fueling him higher, and he knew that he couldn't get lost in those kisses if he wanted to obtain all the information he'd set out to find.

Pulling back, his breath puffed over John's face as he centered himself. "Stop distracting me." He said simply, and then his hands were pulling the jeans all the way off, leaving John practically naked for him. The rug beneath them pulled taught as Sherlock slid his hips backwards, his shoulders now even with John's pelvis. "I'm afraid things went a little fast last time, and I'll not deny that the thought of driving you insane without the limits of my own stamina is one I desire to experiment with." One hand lifted to John's mouth, fingers pressing insistently at his lips.

"Open." Came the short command as his own mouth followed suit, letting his tongue glide over the sensitive skin on the underside of John's arousal.

John barely had time to consider what exactly Sherlock meant by experiment before the command was spoke. He quickly obliged, his lips parted easily and as the cool fingers slipped in he closed his lips tightly around them. Sucking softly the doctor swept his tongue across the digits, amazed by the dual sensation.

His tongue swirled between the fingers, only to stop as Sherlock's tongue managed to do something to his cock unbeknownst to John, that left him gasping. His jaw fell open, the long fingers not nestled in his mouth were wrapped delicately around his bottom jaw. John wondered for a moment where Sherlock had learned this, but he quickly decided he didn't want to know. His thoughts didn't last long anyways as it seemed the detective was quickly figuring out exactly how to pick apart his blogger. Nipping softly at the fingers in his mouth John moaned as his back arched, pressing his body closer to Sherlocks.

To say that Sherlock was unaffected by the situation was a blatant lie. Feeling the doctor coming undone beneath his ministrations was intoxicating, and Sherlock knew that he was slowly replacing his other addictions with more of John the longer they spent in each other's arms. Finally he pulled his fingers away, the subliminal pleasure too much to bear and his soft groan echoed John's at the loss of contact.

Sweet reassurances fell from his lips across John's hips almost thoughtlessly as his spit slick fingers traveled down to circled the tight sensitive bud. He took the head of the other's manhood in his mouth as one digit slowly slid inside of the blonde. He had been prepared once, and it was barely sufficient then. Sherlock would have him writhing before he allowed himself the pleasure of sinking into that tight heat this time.

John's body didn't tense quite as much as before, now that he knew what to expect. A small hiss escaped his lips, slowly giving way to a guttural moan as Sherlock expertly worked his way in, teasing just enough to keep John distracted. One hand softly threaded through Sherlock's hair as his neck arched back. The detectives name rolled off his tongue like a mantra as he gradually relaxed.

He was slow, and diligent, and when the finger was finally seated fully inside of him, he allowed him a few moments, waiting for the tell tale squirming before he pulled it out slowly, almost completely and pressed back in. The long digit crooked on the outwards stroke as he set up a lazy pace, searching for the bundle of nerves that he knew would relax the doctor in an instant and reduce him to a quivering, pleading heap.

It wasn't long before Johns body writhed, his hips thrusting upward indicating that Sherlock found what he was looking for. The fingers in Sherlock's hair gripped desperately as a deep guttural moan ripped from his chest.

"Sherlock..." John's voice was deep as he lifted his head to gape down at the ginger, his bottom lip caught between his teeth keeping him from moaning again from the sight alone.

The hum that vibrated through his throat and down the other man's cock almost sounded like a question. It was as if he was asking what the smaller man wanted. When his eyes rose to meet the blue ones above him, they were sharp and observant. He knew what John wanted, but he wanted to hear it.

Feeling particularly wicked, he relaxed his jaw, letting the shaft slide further into his mouth as he replaced one finger with two on the next in stroke. Taking John deep in his throat,he let his saliva build up so that it slid down to better lubricate his ministrations. The smaller man's head fell back to the floor with a soft thud as his hips rolled into the detectives hand.

His own arousal was becoming unbearable as the doctor responded so well under his skillful hands. The desire to just bury himself deep inside was overwhelming, but feeling John squirming beneath him was a pleasure all it's own.

John wasn't sure he could handle much more. Sherlock seemed to have worked him out, he knew exactly just how far to push him so he was teetering on the edge, overwhelmed . Moans of pleasure were readily falling from his tongue now, mixed with attempts at speech. "Sh'lock... please..." The plea was almost a growl, as his hand fell listlessly to the carpet, unable to keep any sort of focus.

That simple plea was all it took to break the careful concentration Sherlock had been employing to make sure John was open and ready for this. He pulled his fingers out of John, and smirked softly at the sound of disappointment he heard from beneath him. He rocked back onto his heels, for a moment before standing.

"Stay." He said shortly.

John barely had time to question Sherlock's motives before he returned with the bottle of lube. Sherlock made quick work of his trousers, sliding them down his hips along with his pants before kicking them, and his shoes, off. The man beneath him watched greedily as Sherlock finally freed himself. A soft pink tongue traced along his lips, eyes blown with desire.

Once divested of the last barrier between them, he pressed between John's legs once more, verdigris eyes watching him as he popped open the lube. Once he was sure he was slick enough, his hands moved to lift both of the doctor's knees to his shoulders. The smooth skin pressed against his stubbled face as he slowly lined himself up and let his body sink into John's. A low guttural groan ripped it's way through his chest, and as he leaned forward to kiss the blonde beneath him, it rocked John's body into a position that did hell on his nerves.

The first small thrust was experimental, and as tendrils of pleasure shot up his spine, his next thrust was not so gentle. It felt like John was surrounding him completely, and his mind that had been chattering nonstop since he'd checked in to the hospital, went blissfully silent. "John..." he moaned softly, their eyes meeting once more as he pulled out almost completely before pressing back in as deep as he could go.

Gripping Sherlock's hip with one hand, encouragingly pulling him in, John stroked himself in time with their thrusts. He kept their gaze locked as long as he could, but eventually it all became too much and his eyes fluttered shut as he breathed out Sherlock's name.

When John felt the desire coiling deep inside of him he stilled his hand, fingers digging into the back of Sherlock's thigh. His eyes flew open once again, catching Sherlock's as the world began to fade. He gave Sherlock a small nod, permission to take what he wanted and a desperate plea for him to give everything.

"Come on Sherlock." he groaned encouragingly, his nails biting softly into his skin.

It sent a spiral of unreadable pleasure low into Sherlock's stomach. With a animalistic noise low in his throat, Sherlock nipped at the inside of the doctor's thigh sharply before hooking his thumbs around his knees and pushing them back to his chest.

The angle allowed him to slam directly into John's prostate with each rough thrust, not to mention the pleasant way it allowed Sherlock to slip completely inside of him. The tightness was maddening as he gripped tightly where his hands had stayed on the backs of John's knees. His hips were pistoning with a force he hadn't known he'd had, and three words repeated through his mind. John... mine... take... take. mine!

His breath was heavy and hot as his eyes traveled down where their bodies met. The sight was so dirty and sinful that he found his teeth grit together to keep him from babbling incessantly. His mind was so full of John and his illegally tantalizing body, that he came to the precipice much quicker than he intended. A thin hand left John's leg to reach between them and stroke his throbbing cock in time with his thrusts.

"John..." he panted, silently expressing with his eyes how close he was and how much he needed the man to come with him.

A devilish grin pulled at Johns lips. He was finally seeing Sherlock absolutely aching for release and damn him to hell if it wasn't the more gorgeous sight he'd ever seen. It dawned on him why Sherlock wanted to find out how he ticked. Seeing the man above him falling to pieces was utterly intoxicating.

"Fuck Sherlock." He cried, pressing back into the thrusts.

It only took a few simultaneous thrusts from Sherlock before John was writhing in ecstasy. One arm left Sherlock's thigh as he reached his peak to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. White lights flashed behind John's eyes as he began to spill out over Sherlock's hand still working on his member.

As the orgasm crashed over him John snaked the arm thrown across his face up to cup the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling their bodies closer together. His expression had changed to something feral. His voice was a thick growl when he spoke.

"Come. Now."

John was using his officer voice. Sherlock had become familiar with that tone from the HOUND case. It was authoritative, non nonsense and demanded to be obeyed. So Sherlock did.

A shuddering moan gurgled from his throat as he pressed all of his weight into John, toes flexing, trying to push himself deeper than before as all his muscles tensed. His orgasm ripped almost painfully through his body, every one of his nerve endings lit up as he poured into the smaller man. When his muscles began to relax, soft tremors wound their way up his spine, forcing him to collapse on top of the blonde in a quivering heap of bliss. His lips lazily found John's and he held him there in the post coital haze, kissing him chastely, unwilling to give even an inch of room until he came down from his adrenaline high.

The couple lay there for a few minutes in a hot, sticky mess of limbs until John began moving beneath the detective. He knew he'd be paying for their choice of venue by morning, it'd been worth it of course. Rolling Sherlock to the side he sat up a little to grin sheepishly down at the younger man, their legs still intertwined

"Welcome home, detective." His voice was playful, but one hand rubbed at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

Sherlock grunted noncommittally in response, burrowing back into the warmth of John's body, tucking his chin down and his forehead against the doctor's chest. One arm looped over his waist and splayed his fingers over the warm skin of his back.

"I suppose it wasn't tea I needed..." He said offhandedly, "care for a nap?"


	4. Rise Above This

The next few weeks were anything but easy. John went back to volunteering at the clinic, making it easier to duck out when Sherlock's health deemed it necessary. The only thing that seemed to really change between the two was the intimacy of their relationship. Which meant after no time they fell back into a regular routine, but outside of, and to John's dismay occasionally in, bed they were plagued by Sherlock's demons.

One day John received a call from Lestrade, apparently he had been trying to get ahold of the detective for a few days about a case. Of course, Sherlock had spent the past three days defiling their kitchen sink with god knows what. It took half the evening and a ridiculous outburst, reminiscent of a petulant child before he told John why he'd been ignoring Lestrade.

"If I'd left well enough alone before we never would have gotten mixed up in that!" Their argument had moved to the sitting room and he was leering over John defensively, almost nose to nose. "I wasn't well enough. If I had been I would have never fallen for his trap. I can't let you get hurt again." The last sentence was quiet, spoken just loud enough for John to hear before he stalked back to the green armchair, collapsing into it with a huff. "It's just temporary anyways. I fully intend to return to the work, I just need to be sure I'm in full control of my facilities when we do."

The withdrawals were terrible for the both of them. It wasn't just the desire for the drugs that bothered Sherlock, it was the fact that he wasn't in full control of his mind. John tried to help, but the detectives fuse was particularly short, and even John's mild manner could only be cooped up for so long. Their hiatus from the Yard and cases didn't even last to the end of the month. John didn't mind in the least, he appreciated what Sherlock had been trying to do, to protect them, but even he was itching to get out.

One particularly bad episode had left Sherlock unable to sleep due to the horrific nightmares that not even sleeping curled up in John's arms could cure. After waking up to Sherlock pacing furiously, John had stayed up with him for the next few days, catching a few blessed minutes of sleep when Sherlock would shower, or be preoccupied watching crap telly.

Sherlock finally made John sleep by promising to try to do so himself, and laying down beside him at night. However, he ended up just laying awake, brushing John's hair until he fell asleep, and then would slip out of his arms to play his violin quietly, composing something new, or to work on quiet and hazardless experiments.

The second time Sherlock left the doctor's side in the middle of the night John came out to find the detective sprawled out on the small sofa, seemingly utterly unconscious. There was a small sheen of sweat across his brow and the stradivarius was abandoned on the floor, where his lax hand had dropped it. John tucked a blanket around him and lifted his head, placing the union jack pillow beneath it before brushing the hair from his forehead. His roots were growing in dark brown and the curls were almost back to how they'd been before, the sight made John smile softly.

Absolutely ruined, the detective slept for twelve hours after that attack. That was the night John suggested attending rehab meetings.

Sherlock had refused at first of course, but John didn't let it go. Finally after another fit of sleepless nights and worrying the other man, the detective finally agreed. The night of his first meeting he was getting ready to leave and saw John slipping his jacket on as well. A shake of the head stopped him, and Sherlock refused to let him come. This was something he needed to do on his own.

However, a few weeks later when he came home from the meeting early, John's worries were confirmed. He'd been kicked out for being a snarky sod. After a few moments of angry ramblings in which Sherlock made his case by countering with things like "She was the one that was a prostitute John. I merely pointed out that her last client had lied about his STD and that she should get checked." But luckily with much grovelling, and a promise that he would be attending with Sherlock for all future meetings, they were allowed to return.

They seemed to help, and his temperament improved even though he only viewed going to the meetings as a way to put John at ease, and as observation. Although their life sometimes felt like a complete mess, they had their good days. More particularly there were days when John managed to stop acting like his doctor, and Sherlock slowed down enough to consider the relationship they had entered.

John knew it was Valentine's Day, it was bloody impossible to miss, what with the traffic and the pink and red hearts taped to every shop window, which Sherlock had been quick to point out were terribly misinformative, but he wasn't expecting anything. In fact, if anything, he had pointedly avoided the subject. Hearts, affection, sentiment. Sherlock had changed, but the last thing John wanted to do was frighten him off.

They were still just John and Sherlock. Their relationship had morphed so certain titles almost fit, partners, boyfriends, but no title had ever really fit anyways. They hadn't discussed what this was since that first night. John wasn't going to bring it up again, and he wasn't going to put any stipulations on Sherlock.

With that in mind John had resigned himself to having a night in. Half way into the quiet evening Sherlock stormed out in an apparent snit only to return an hour and a half later with a bottle of wine and a box of the chocolate biscuits that John liked. He'd carried in a paper sack and eyed John carefully before sprinting into the kitchen and snapping any time John tried to join him. Finally he returned with the plate of biscuits and two glasses of wine. He'd pulled John onto the couch with him and put in one of those ghastly american action movies that John loved so much, and they'd spent the evening wrapped up with each other, sharing sweet kisses. They'd fallen asleep on the couch, but when Sherlock woke an hour later, he'd half carried the drowsy doctor to bed where they'd snuggled up together and slept late the next day.

Sherlock might not be emotionally stable or understanding, but he had known from the moment John had noticed that it was Valentines Day what he'd wanted, and it was the least he could do to put a smile on his face after all he'd been through.

Even after Valentine's Day Sherlock continued to improve, and after a few months, he had filled out and there was almost no physical evidence of his addiction. He still had nightmares occasionally, but for the most part, life had returned to normal, well as normal as it got with Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft had been able to put off the trial regarding the apparent murders for a short while, long enough for Sherlock to be able to come in and make his case to a lower level judge without displaying such obvious signs of withdrawal. It had all been for show of course. Mycroft had been very careful in picking a judge to deal with the cases, to be sure that they would rule in favor of his brother.

They were between cases, and Sherlock was at that point where he was mildly bored before being violent, and he was staring at John from across the room with a hungry look full of promises when there came a knock on the door. John couldn't help but chuckle as he shot Sherlock an apologetic glance before heading down to get the door. He was sure the detective would have rather ignored whoever it was, the aversion to emotions and sentiment did not affect his libido in the least. When the mood struck he could be down right insatiable.

John nearly choked when he opened the door. His mind had wandered on him, replaying the previous nights activities. So when he found one Mycroft Holmes waiting rather impatiently on the stoop his mind came to a screeching halt. He quickly recovered, remembering that they had been waiting to hear from Mycroft since Sherlock's meeting with the judge.

"Do we have a verdict?" His brows were furrowed slightly, hoping that that was all this was, he really didn't want to deal with sibling rivalries or any government problem Mycroft could offer. More importantly he didn't want Sherlock getting involved in any government deals, it never ended well. He could deal with sibling rivalry. It only led to some sulking, besides John had found faster ways to deal with sulks as of late.

"All's well Doctor Watson." He fished an envelope from his pocket and passed it to John. "Cleared of all charges, so I've come to collect. Sherlock's doing better I understand?"

Everything about Mycroft's demeanour was challenging, from his tone, to his raised eyebrow, to the way he leaned forward slightly on the tip of his umbrella. John's lips pressed together tightly, and that only confirmed his assumptions. "Lovely."

Sweeping past John he made his way up the stairs.

"Mycroft..." Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. His brother would suffer dearly for interrupting the delicious plans he'd had for the doctor. Oh his brother would pay.

"I told you I'd hold you to your word. I've dealt with all of your transgressions, including covering up the Adler woman's death, yet again. You're obviously doing well enough." The last word dripped from his tongue as his eyes swept across the flat accusingly. John's gaze followed the elder Holmes, trying to see what incriminating evidence he was obviously seeing, it eluded him.

Mycroft's gaze snapped back to his younger brother, a certain air of mirth as he continued. "Friday. Seven o'clock. Mummy will be expecting you and John."

"I'm still not exactly well Mycroft." Sherlock said with disdain, "We'll not be there. Give Mummy my apologies." He turned his back on Mycroft, showing that the conversation was over.

"She'll be rather disappointed." Mycroft deadpanned as he turned away, his words weren't meant for the detective anyways. His eyes locked with John, he knew who the guilt would eat at, and it wasn't Sherlock. "I expect you'll find time soon enough."

He gave John a pointed look before heading toward the door, obviously not interested in engaging Sherlock further. He'd done all he needed to be sure Sherlock would visit their mother. Not this weekend perhaps, but he would. The door clicked behind Mycroft almost defiantly as John's eyes bore into the back of a rather defiant Sherlock.

"Why won't you go see her?" His voice was calm and curious, careful to keep any accusations out of his tone. Things had been delightfully good between the two of them and he didn't want to upset their delicate balance.

Sherlock didn't exactly know how to respond to the question. Part of it was his childish resilience to anything Mycroft wanted of him, but that wasn't it. For some reason taking John to meet his mother seemed so intense. None of his friends or coworkers had ever met his mother before. Most of them assumed he'd been grown in a test tube and that Mycroft was just a guard dog.

Part of him also was hesitant to face her after all of the shenanigans surrounding his fake suicide. If she had in fact believed he was dead, she would be cross, and if not, Mycroft surely would have told her all about John, like the tattle tale he was, and she would still be cross. Even as a grown man his mother cross was a frightening thing. Her temper was like that of Aphrodite, once she was mad, you would be punished, even if she had to chase you down herself. The infuriating thing was, no matter how hard you tried to frazzle her, she would get upset yes, but not a hair would ever be out of place.

"Because I'm not ready yet John." The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, and he sat up, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and looking at the other man, "Why are you so insistent?"

It did strike him as odd that John was so eager for them to go. He didn't know his mother, he couldn't know if she'd been worried about him or not. Those who did know he had a mother always assumed that she was exactly like Sherlock and Mycroft. Brilliant, and cool. While she was brilliant, during his youth the detective had actually wondered if they had been adopted.

"She's very..." The words got stuck in his throat. Kind, intense, frightening. "I met her at the funeral. Well, your funeral. I wasn't exactly in my best form... I just think it'd be the right thing to do."

This was not something he wanted to discuss. That had been the worst time for him, right after the fall. He'd gone to the funeral in a half catatonic state, been seated at the front and treated like a mourning widower. The Holmes mother had been kind, but not in a placating way like most.

Part of John's insistence had to do with doing what was right, more times than not his conscience had to work for the both of them. She had been more than accepting of how close he was to Sherlock, no questions, just an unnerving amount of support that was very Holmes. But mostly, he wanted the chance to meet her properly, considering how out of sorts he'd been last time they met.

"You want me to go visit my mother so that you can make up for first impressions?" his voice was strangely clinical and cold. He wasn't sure why but this was something he did not want to do and he was going to dig his nails in and fight it as long as he could. He scoffed and laid back down on the couch turning his back to the doctor. All the arousal from earlier had dissipated from his body.

"No." He said simply, and closed his eyes against the barrage he expected to come from John.

"You've got be kidding me. She's your mother Sherlock... You were gone for over three years. She has a right to see you." Any chance at a pleasant evening had just flown out the window. John set his jaw as he tried to rack his brain for anyway to get the child in front of him to cooperate. He had an idea, but it wouldn't be fun for either of them.

"If I haven't seen her in that long she is used to it and she will be alright until I feel that I am well enough to see her!" His voice was strained, and he had no idea why John was fighting so hard for this. Shouldn't it be his decision? He pulled his dressing gown tighter around him as he burrowed into the couch cushions.

"Fine." John's voice was clipped, obviously done with the subject, as he stomped off to gather his tea from the kitchen before sitting at the desk to work on writing up their most recent case. It had been a few days, but he'd yet to have the opportunity to sit and even think about writing. Opening the laptop he began pecking at the keyboard, his brows furrowed in thought. He knew Sherlock would be surprised by his sudden acquiesce, but that was just what he wanted.

Green eyes peered over a shoulder as John literally gave up the argument. He was mildly surprised, but thinking back he realized John had been rather accommodating to his requests lately, perhaps they were just learning how to better cope with each other.

However, Sherlock found that this wasn't the case when he started getting ready for bed. He'd meandered into the kitchen, having decided to make tea to wind his mind down before retiring, and he made John a cup as well. Tea was the closest he ever got to an apology for being difficult.

John was still pecking away at the laptop when he set the cups down on either side of him. Long arms wrapped around his waist as a curly head nuzzled against the back of his neck, light kisses pressed into his hairline. "Are you almost ready for bed?" He asked between kisses.

"Hmm?" John hummed as though he hadn't noticed the man obvious attempts at seduction. The only sign that he'd taken any notice was the small smile that pulled at his lips as took a sip of the fresh tea. He didn't move in or away from the touch, he'd let Sherlock work out his reasons.

Setting the tea down, he continued seemingly oblivious to the detectives intentions. "I'll be done soon, no need to wait up."

Sherlock blinked. Normally when he got cuddly, as John liked to call it, he was up and ready to come to bed. Those times were few and far between. Although he often woke up embracing or being embraced by the doctor, during his waking hours he was still not a very physical person. Outside of sex anyway.

He looked down at John's blonde hair, picking out the strands of gray with his eyes as he thought. Was John still upset about earlier? He wasn't displaying any of his usual signs of anger, and he seemed quite calm. Sherlock's thumb rubbed against the hard planes of the smaller man's stomach as he thought. He'd taken the tea which was usually his sign that he'd forgiven whatever minor transgression Sherlock had done, but he was being...distant.

The word struck him like a freight train and his arms recoiled almost as if burned. "Alright then. Good Night." He left his untouched tea on the desk next to John and retreated to his bedroom. He lay on the bed, his back to the door and his breathing carefully measured to look like he was sleeping, but in reality his mind was running in overdrive, trying to comprehend John's sudden change.


	5. The Reason

John waited until he was sure Sherlock had retreated to their room before he closed the laptop and began tidying up the room. He hadn't intended on making him wait long for him to come to bed, he just needed to make his point. It seemed, from how quickly Sherlock had pulled away, he at least knew something was wrong.

It was rather juvenile to hold sex as a bargaining chip, John knew that. Unfortunately he was dealing with a juvenile. Hopefully Sherlocks insatiable libido would be stronger than his obstinance in this case.

Satisfied that he'd made some dent in their whirlwind of a flat, John brushed his teeth and headed off to bed. Wordlessly stripping down to his pants and a t-shirt John slid into the sheets. He placed a chaste kiss to the exposed bit of skin he could reach, right below Sherlock's ear, and closed his eyes.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, he'd never turned Sherlock down. His best guess was one of two things; a sulk for the ages, or a painfully accurate deduction of Johns plan and a show of how sure Sherlock was of his resolve. To John's dismay it seemed, for the night at least, Sherlock had picked the first option.

Sherlock didn't react at all, just stayed on his side with his back to the other man. However the kiss did send his brain train careening off the track. So it was alright for John to show affection but Sherlock's was met with indifference. What was this game John was playing? Sherlock couldn't fathom what was going on with him. Normally it was the other way around, and the detective felt very vulnerable and confused, and he didn't like it. He listened very carefully and when John was deep in sleep, about three minutes into his REM cycle, Sherlock sat up slowly and left the bed. He needed something to help him think.

He wasn't allowed Nicotine patches for the time being, not with the last of his withdrawal symptoms only a few weeks behind him, so he had to settle for composing. Creating something that echoed the chaos in his mind always helped him think, but he worried that the stradivarius would not be a pleasant companion this time. He retrieved some staff paper from the stack on the shelf and set up his music stand with a mechanical pencil and his violin. Once he'd prepped the bow and tuned the instrument itself, he began to play quietly so as not to wake the older man. If the reason for his frustration were to be here in the room with him, he feared his process would be futile.

Soft somber notes flowed from the violin, and as he played his thoughts swirled around him, almost tangible. He played for a long time before they developed into something he was fairly sure could be what was plaguing the doctor. Whilst discussing his mother, John had made mention of Sherlock's funeral. Perhaps something had sparked a reaction within the man that made him keep his distance. Had the gentle kiss when he'd finally retired been an attempt to soothe his abrupt reaction to the looming unresolved issues between them? Sherlock wasn't stupid. He'd seen all the questions John had asked him since his return were still hanging between them, even after the near death experience. There hadn't really been a good time to talk about them, and Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to yet, but here they were rearing their ugly heads in his face.

With a soft, aggravated noise, Sherlock ran the hand with the bow in it through his curly hair, tugging at the locks in frustration. He didn't know how to do this, this relationship thing, he was so lost. He'd tried using past experiences to formulate some sort of contingency plan, but none of it was compatible with his current situation. Laying his violin down in his chair, he sat in John's, the union jack pillow wedged between his legs and chest as he pulled his feet up into the seat.

Being out of his element was new for him, and he wasn't taking it well. He stayed in the chair for a long time, trying to get his mind to calm down. He even cleared the cups away and put them in the sink before making himself another cup of tea, catching the kettle before it whistled. He took a few sips, but it was in John's chair, the small pillow wedged down beside him that he stayed until morning broke through the small windows into the flat, and Sherlock could hear the noises of John beginning to wake. He noticed that the tea in his mostly full cup was ice cold, but his stiff limbs refused to obey him, so he stayed there, staring at the wall, his mind never ceasing.

John wasn't particularly surprised to find the bed empty as he rolled into consciousness. It was a common occurrence on a good day for Sherlock to disappear during the night, normally to another room in the flat, occasionally to the depths of London. But today, John thought as the memories of the previous evening trickled back, was probably going to be a bit not good. Slipping on a pair of loose sweatpants he made his way out into the sitting room.

Tea was always the first thing on John's list in the morning, so he barely noticed that Sherlock was curled into his own chair until after he'd started the pot and ventured back into the sitting room. His hand carded through the wrecked curls absentmindedly as he walked past.

"You get any sleep last night?" Moving the stradivarius to lay across the desk John fell into Sherlock's chair, waiting for the tell tale whistle of the tea pot. The faint color surrounding the green eyes and the forgotten cup of tea told John he hadn't, but that was the only answer he received.

Sherlock was staring past John, into the wall behind him, so he rattled on. "Lestrade still doesn't have any suitable cases, but the websites getting busy again. I'm not working today so I'll see what I can find there." Still nothing.

Shaking his head John went to finish his tea, a soft whistle emanating from the kitchen. He grabbed Sherlock's ice cold cup to refill on the way. He didn't bother asking, obviously he wasn't going to get a response. He returned with two cups of tea, setting one on the small table beside Sherlock, before taking a seat back in the opposite chair.

After a few more useless attempts at conversation John gave up and went back to finishing up the blog post from the night before and responding to emails. After a while Sherlock did move, seemingly getting showered and dressed for the day, but he still didn't say a word to John. The blonde worried, as Sherlock huffed about the flat, if he had underestimated the detectives resolve. When he finally emerged fully dressed, in the purple flannel and tight black jeans no less, he headed for the door.

"Wait." John stumbled from the desk chair as it rolled away behind him. "Where are you going?" He definitely had not meant to drive him away.

Sherlock stopped in the doorway and turned, pulling leather gloves over his long fingers. John looked upset that he was leaving and it made the detective furious because it was just another layer that he didn't understand.

"Out." Was all he said before briskly turning and thumping down the stairs, slamming the door hard enough behind him that Mrs. Hudson replaced him in the doorway a few moments later. John let out a groan as he ran a hand through his hair, cursing silently under his breath.

"Did you two have a bit of a domestic?" She asked moving to John's side, laying a hand on his upper arm much like a mother would.

He looked up at her and offered a smile that only reached half his features. "Yeah, something like that." Mrs. Hudson was the only one that possibly came close to understanding their relationship. He truly did love her like a mother. Laying his hand over hers he continued a bit more chipper, "We'll be fine though, nothing we can't handle." No reason to worry her needlessly.

John considered running after him of course, but decided against it. He wouldn't go far, he never did. It was best to let him cool off.

Sure enough a few hours later he heard his phone chirp. It wasn't exactly who he had been hoping for, as the screen read GREG LESTRADE. Opening the phone he read

What the hell did you do to Sherlock? He's up here causing a fuss. Said he wanted to do some social experiments before we sent these guys on to prison he-

The text was so long it was cut into two messages.

Is in some kind of rage. I swear he made a serial rapist twice my size cry. Come get your detective before I let Donovan loose on him!

-Greg

John was already at the door shrugging on his coat and on his way out the door by the time he finished reading the message.

What the hell did you do to Sherlock?

John hadn't meant to upset him, not like this. There was a fine line with Sherlock. He could be rude and brusque but he didn't often completely lose control.

When the cabbie finally pulled up to the Yard John practically lunged from the vehicle, throwing a few crumpled bills over the seat. He found Lestrade waiting when the elevator opened up on the DIs floor.

"Where is he?"

"I had to lock him in an interrogation room for his own safety." He started leading John towards the interrogation rooms, venting angrily as they walked. "After he made the rapist cry I told him he needed to go home. Told me he couldn't do that. Anderson said something stupid, and Sherlock lit into him like nothing I've ever seen. It was vicious John. I don't know what happened between you two, and frankly it's none of my business, but I can't have him coming up here terrorizing the entire force just because you two had a spat."

Donovan was standing outside the door, but the DI had the smarts not to leave her alone to guard the door, as another burly looking man was standing beside her.

Instead of leading him into the room with Sherlock, he steered him into the observation room. The large two way mirror showed Sherlock pacing in a circle around the table, his hands clasped in the small of his back. He seemed to be muttering to himself, his lips were moving but no words came out.

"As a friend, to both of you." Greg started as he pushed John down into a chair. "Is everything alright? When I asked him what was wrong, he only looked at me with his big eyes and said your name. Now emotional mumbo jumbo is not my division, but I've been dealing with a Holmes on this level a bit longer, maybe I can help?"

Lestrade might not have been a great man, and the Holmes brothers were nowhere near cookie cutter personalities, but he could definitely see similarities between this and his and Mycroft's first big row. He had been glad that he'd never planned to visit Syria, after seeing the wreckage from Mycroft's 'minor tantrum' he knew he wouldn't be able to set foot in the country without feeling guilty.

Looking back at Sherlock pacing the room John shook his head. This was not what he had intended to happen, not at all. But what was he supposed to tell Greg?

Sherlock was refusing to see his mother so John was denying him sex, but of course he hadn't explained this to Sherlock. He just shouldered him off, ignored him, and given absolutely no explanation. It was finally dawning on John that he had expected too much of him.

"We're fine." His voice was short, but when he looked up at the DI who was obviously looking for more of an answer he dropped the bitter tone. "He... Mycroft wanted him to see their mum... Sherlock was refusing to go..." He pinched his brow between two fingers, pressing his eyes shut tight, before moving to stand. "I pushed him and obviously I shouldn't have. Can I get him now?"

John didn't look back at Lestrade as he stood, he didn't need to see whatever worry or pity lie there.

"You have to remember John." Greg said, standing with him and placing a hand on his shoulder, "They don't know relationships like we do. Things that seem... " He struggled to find the right word, "Normal to us, may not compute. Hell look at the way they treat each other. Mycroft takes care of his brother by spying on him. Who does that?" He shook his head and led the blonde back out into the hallway.

"Just be careful." he said softly, before shooing away the guards and opening the door, letting John into the interrogation room before closing it quietly behind him. Sherlock stopped pacing, and although he didn't change his posture, he looked for all the world like a caged animal. His eyes were cold and sharp but there was a hesitance there that wasn't normal for the way things had been between them lately.

"Come to collect me have you." he quipped with an obvious temper.

"Sherlock," John took a few steps forward, pausing hesitantly just out of reach. They had fallen back so many hard earned steps in such a short amount of time that the air between them was tense. "Let's just go home." He didn't want to have it out at all, especially not here.

John bit at the inside of his lip, desperately hoping Sherlock wouldn't put up a fight about this.

The detective couldn't decipher John's mood. He looked tired, and a little irritated, but besides that he couldn't see anything like he normally could. He thought about fighting him, about refusing to leave, but that was how this started wasn't it? By him refusing John something he asked for. John never asked for much, so who was he to deny him?

Slowly, the detective nodded, feeling like a chastised child. He wanted to be mad, he wanted a piece of the fury that had consumed him earlier, but seeing John had caused all the anger to leave him, and the worry from the night before to sweep back in. He was going to tell him tonight. He'd been working through it in his mind while Lestrade had locked him in here and called John, and he had decided exactly how and what he was going to say. Sherlock was nervous to tell John, he could be mad at the detective for not having told him sooner, or worse he could leave. His stomach fell as that thought crossed his mind. If John left, he'd be completely alone, just like Moriarty. He didn't want to turn into his father, but he knew that by not telling John now, it could make him leave anyway. It was now or never, and they needed to get home before Sherlock would be able to muster the courage to say another word. When John opened the door, he moved passed him careful not to touch. Lestrade nodded to them both, but Sally Donovan's glare followed them to the elevator doors.

The ride downstairs was excruciating, and he thought he was going to die before they made it out of the cab. He spent most of it silently staring out the window, but he was quite in tune with John and his body.

John tried to engage Sherlock, resting his hand on a shoulder tentatively. A surge of fear went through him as he tried to imagine what would happen when the got home. They hadn't fought before, not like this, and he had no idea what to expect. His hand fell between them awkwardly when it became evident Sherlock wasn't responding to the touch. John spent the rest of the ride trying to come up with something that would bring the detective from his reverie.

But when they finally made it home, Sherlock paid the cabby and slipped out of the backseat before John could even get his door open. He left the door to the flat open and slipped into the kitchen to make tea. He knew John would need it for what he had to say. "Sit." he said simply when he heard the door close and footsteps making their way to the kitchen.

He moved slowly towards Sherlock, worry etched across his features as he watched the detective from the doorway. "I'm sorry Sherlock." He had thought of saying many things. Explaining what had happened the night before, that having a row does not constitute attacking half of Lestrade's team, but none of that managed to make its way out as he watched him making tea for the both of them.

"Don't apologize John, just sit." He didn't look at him, and turned away to retrieve the milk Mrs. Hudson had bought for them. He splashed some into both cups, added sugar to his own, and carried the cups to the living room. He set John's down on the table next to his chair, and sat in his own, showing John he wanted to talk, not sitting on the couch where they could sit together.

He set his own cup on the table and rested his elbows on his knees as he hung his head, hands running through his curly hair in frustration. "Sit." he half commanded. His tone was no nonsense, and as he looked back up at John, his eyes were hard.

John obliged, he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He didn't make a move for the tea, instead he leaned forward, watching Sherlock carefully. The man looked absolutely wrecked. He'd obviously been tearing at his hair the entire time he'd been out and it was standing at all sorts of odd angles. Then of course was the fact that he'd made John tea, which could only mean he felt whatever he had to say would call for it.

"Talk to me Sherlock." John's voice was soft, masking most of the fear he was feeling.

"I knew Moriarty, or Sebastian Moran rather... I knew he was going to try to kill me or force me to kill myself. I had to take drastic measures in order to assure him that I had in the event that I was unable to persuade him to stand down. The moment he killed himself on that rooftop, before I called you I sent a text message out to a few select people. Molly, some of my homeless network, and Mycroft. I put them all on red alert." He raised his head, a hand rubbing over his face and pulling at his lips.

It had been months since they'd finished with Moriarty, but John still hadn't asked what happened during Sherlock's hiatus. It was like a careful subject they had hidden away, something they were both aware of, but made sure to never speak of.

"Sherlock." John's voice was barely above a whisper, he could see how emotionally draining this was for the detective already, "You don't have to do this. It's ok-."

"Hush John." Sherlock's words cut through John's feeble attempt at brushing this all over, "You made me promise once that I would tell you. I told you I would tell you once I was sure that things were more stable between us. I didn't think it would ever be, but..." He trailed off for a moment before his eyes snapped to John's blue ones, suddenly very calm and resolved.

"I called you. I had to make you believe that I was going to die too. There were assassins trained on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, and they had to see me die John. I knew if I kept you in a convenient location, they would be watching you and your reactions, you would sell it John. You would keep them all safe." His fingers dug into the tender skin beneath his cheekbones as he pressed on.

"When I jumped, I kept you to where the building between the street and Barts would hinder your sight. You would see me fall, but you wouldn't see me hit the ground. With the man on the bicycle that knocked you down I would have precisely ninety seconds from the time I hit the back of the garbage truck to get out and lay down. I had parts of my homeless network in scrubs, and I'd donated a pint of blood earlier that week. That combined with my own concoction of sedatives and other various drugs, I could slow my heart and breathing enough to fool even you."

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. "Didn't you notice that even though you were practically shouting that you were a doctor, they were pulling you away?" he scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. "They whisked me away where Molly gave me a shot of adrenaline to get my heart rate back up. Mycroft hid me away for a while, but soon I started out here in London, tracking down and finding all of Moriarty's web of criminals. For a long time my searching was futile. Then, I caught a break."

He had to stand for this next bit, he was getting far too nervous to remain sitting. "I started small, worked my way up. Finally after a year, I was infiltrating their groups within a matter of weeks instead of months. Sometimes it was easy to make it into their midst, others... not so much." He stopped and looked at John, his eyes were wild and almost frightened. They didn't waver as he lifted his fingers to remove his coat, tossing it back onto his chair, and then almost clinically removed his flannel shirt as well. The afternoon light spilled into 221B practically reflecting off of his alabaster skin. Although John had seen him naked before something was different about baring his chest to the man now.

He pointed to his chest where a long thin scar arched across his left pectoral muscle. "Knife. I barely dodged out of the way. The man had been aiming for my throat." He pointed out a few other smaller scars much the same way, ones with different stories, when finally, he lifted his left arm, and pointed to the dark puckered skin across his left side.

"They were torturing me. It was a necessary way that I had to utilize quite often to gain access to the group. However, this group had heard about my movements, and captured me unawares. The leader took a hot knife, slid it right between my ribs and opened me up like some sort of lab dissection. I passed out. It was one of the few times Mycroft actually had to step in and save my life... They had already burned my skin enough that I wouldn't get an infection from the gash... but it didn't heal well, that's why it's so horrid." Shaking his head, he turned around and ran his fingers down the long thin scar on his back.

"I was running away, leading them further into the forest where I could pick them off one by one. I was outnumbered five to one, and they had guns. A chain link fence was barring my way, and when I lept over it, I didn't see the piece sticking straight out on the other side. I slid down the fence and it ripped a deep gash in my back." His fingers reached a spot at the top near his right shoulder where the scar flared out and was pink instead of the white of the rest of it. "I got stuck. I thought I was done for, but... I got free somehow." Sherlock refused to tell him that it was the thought of John and never seeing him again that had given him the extra gall he'd needed to rip the metal from his flesh.

With his back turned Sherlock didn't see John silently slip to his feet. He had known a little of what had happened, what little Mycroft had shared with him at least, but hearing it like this was so much different. He'd been sitting with one hand pressed to his mouth since Sherlock had rid himself of his shirt, trying not to imagine too vividly the horrors Sherlock had gone through.

He was standing directly behind the detective in a few swift steps and he reached out for him. Calloused fingers lightly grazed the gash Sherlock's own hand was still resting on. He traced up the soft skin until he reached the dip, where the skin was torn deeper. As their fingers brushed over the old wound images flashed through his mind. All the nightmares they'd protected each other from, this had been why. It sickened him that even for a moment, he'd considered their scars as something good, paths that had led them to each other.

"Sher-" He breathed the detectives name, unsure of what else to say. John had been through war, but he hadn't been alone. The wound on his shoulder had scared him, mentally and physically, but he was cared for and sent home. Sherlock hadn't had any of that. He had fought a one man war, and almost died for it time and time again with practically no one to turn to.

Sherlock's fingers gripped John's hand as he turned. They were now almost chest to chest. The detective's hand was tight around John's, almost crushing his fingers. "Do not for one minute pity me John. I deserve all of these." He took a breath and closed his eyes before pushing forward, "I could have turned them in. I could have dropped them off with Mycroft but I didn't. I killed every last one of them."

Sherlock didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see John's expression. He had wanted to wait until he was positive things were okay, but he had seen since last night and his tantrum today, things were not going to be okay, not with secrets looming over their heads. If John did leave him, he would have to cope. He couldn't keep smiling and hiding the truth from the only person who truly cared for him.

"For a while after I came home, I could pretend like I wasn't that monster. I could act like everything was normal. Life moved on, you helped to fix me, how could I show you what I had become? You already knew I had little regard for human life, how could I tell you how skewed my conscience was without you to balance it out? Now you see why I refused to tell you?" He asked.

In the end, Moriarty had strived to find someone just like him, little did anyone know that he had succeeded. He didn't dare say it aloud though, even he wasn't that 's teeth were grit together as he released John's hand from his tight grip. He did however, press the open palm to his face. The touches on his scars had been gentle, and for one moment, he just wanted to imagine that nothing had changed, even though he was sure it had.

John's thumb brushed along the sharp cheekbone softly. Had Sherlock opened his eyes he would have seen a very confused man in front of him. His free hand moved to graze along with jagged cut along his ribs. Now that the marks had stories the touch felt as if it might burn his fingertips, as if somehow he might take the pain away through the gesture.

It was a few moments before John finally spoke, the pain was evident in his voice. "What did you think would happen if you told me?" He cupped Sherlock's jaw softly, willing him to open his eyes.

"The same thing that happened when I ever opened up to anyone else." When he opened his eyes, they met John's blue ones and all the fear of rejection that had been cultivated from the three years of being away, all the fights, all the times he'd expected John to walk out and never come back, they were all laid out in his gaze. His thumb brushed against the back of John's hand and he gave a small smile. He wasn't sure how to interpret what he saw in John's face. Were things better between them? John certainly didn't seem to be considering running away.

"You won't... will you?" His voice was soft and low.

"I'm not going anywhere Sherlock." John didn't try and move closer or pull away, just touching Sherlock gently, supporting him. Somehow, their tiff had led to Sherlock sharing what was probably the most intimate secret he held, and John wasn't going to push him for any more. "You did what you had to. I hate that you were forced into that and that you were alone, but it doesn't make you any less human."

Sherlock's lip quivered, though he would deny it later. He moved his hands almost hesitantly before sliding them around John's waist and pulling him the last few inches into his embrace. "Now that I've told you..." His voice caught in his throat, "Now that I've told you, are you quite finished being angry with me?" The words were spoken into John's hair, his hands were light on the other's hips, ready to pull back at the first sign of John's displeasure.

"Oh shit." John breathed, finally realizing what had happened. He felt Sherlock tense up as he cursed and had to wrap an arm tight around the thin waist to keep him from pulling away. Somehow Sherlock had assumed he was upset that they hadn't yet talked about everything. The man had bared his soul, because John had wanted him to visit his mum.

Keeping Sherlock close he spoke against his chest, "I'm not angry with you Sherlock, honestly. I never was, not really anyways. Just... Okay this was actually quite horrible of me." He released Sherlock so that he could look up at him. John chewed at the inside of his lip, hoping he wouldn't be too upset, again. "I think it's your turn not to be angry with me actually.."

"Why on earth would I be angry with you John?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath John pressed on. "I.. I really wasn't angry with you. I was just trying to get you to agree to go to your mum's." He bit at his bottom lip again, waiting for Sherlock to react, fully prepared for this to set off another fit.

The detective's eyes narrowed. That's what John had pulled away for? "You mean to tell me that this entire thing was about going to visit my mother?"

Unable to hold the piercing gaze any longer John focused on a stain on the wall behind them, he was fairly certain it was tea Sherlock had thrown across the room during one of the more difficult days of his recovery.

Sherlock grabbed John's chin and forced him to look into his eyes once more. "Does it really mean that much to you for me to go see my mother? Enough that you would rebuff my advances for everything that has become normal..." He trailed off for a moment, "What will Lestrade say when he finds out. Oh, John you may be banned from the yard for quite some time.." His voice had taken on a light air to drive away the tense feelings they'd been sharing not a moment ago

John relaxed slightly when he heard the change in his tone. "Oi! Who has to tell Lestrade anything? Plus if I'm banned you'll be shit out of luck because I doubt you'll be let in there without me for quite a while, not after today." This banter was normal, comfortable. It felt as if a small weight had been lifted of John's shoulders. He hadn't realized until now just how much he needed their relationship, the idea of scaring Sherlock away had absolutely terrified him.

Dropping the teasing tone he answered the real question. "And yes. I mean, she's your mother, and she thought you were dead for christs sake. I just... It's the right thing to do Sherlock."

"Then I'll go." The words came so easily, and he pulled John back into a quick hug before letting him go. He moved across the flat, scooped both of their tea cups up and deposited them on the coffee table before sliding his hips tight into the corner of the couch and patting the space beside him.

"Now that I know why you were so indifferent yesterday, I'm sure you've been regretting not taking care of my... " he rolled his eyes at the word, "cuddly mood. Come here." He held his arm out, making the space right up against his side look very inviting. The brunette would never admit it, but after having bared his gritty history to John, he needed some physical reassurance that he was not about to leave.

Any residual tension that John had been holding on to left at the invitation. Grabbing the cup of tea he nestled against the lanky man.

"Yes. I have. We could still..." John let his implication hang in the air as his eyes traveled up the still bare chest. Taking a sip of the tea to fill the silence his gaze met Sherlocks. "If you want to I mean."

For the first time since he and John had entered into that kind of relationship, Sherlock could say that he really didn't. After the worry of the afternoon, the steeling himself for John to storm out the door, he felt rather deflated, and the only thing he truly desired was to have his arms around John to prove to himself that he was still here, and this wasn't some dream.

"No." he said softly, wrapping his arm around the doctor and taking his own tea in hand, "If you don't mind, I'd just like to stay like this for a while." He knew the words would sound odd, but he frankly didn't care.


	6. I Wanna

The next few days carried on in about the same way and Sherlock managed to find a reason each day that John wouldn't be able to make it into the clinic. They'd spent their days working on cold cases John was sure would have normally been dismissed as boring, and making up experiments that required an extra pair of hands. This wasn't really the problem though, John didn't mind staying home to help Sherlock, that's why he'd only been volunteering at the clinic. The real issue was the fact that the detective was constantly touching him.

Sherlock was not a touchy person, he didn't like being touched unless it was on his terms, and he normally didn't seek out displays of affection from John unless he was planning to follow through with sex. It had always been like that, all or nothing. This was completely different. They still hadn't had sex since before their argument about Sherlock's mother, of course the problem had been laid to rest and they were planning to visit her the following weekend, but something had changed for the detective, and it was driving John insane.

On the second day of this madness John decided to take matters into his own hands. He was making his morning cup of tea when Sherlock blundered in, babbling on about the latest cold case he'd worked out. The detective immediately tucked himself behind John, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder as he continued to explain his discovery. This had become frustratingly normal the past few days.

"Fascinating," John mumbled, his own pent up frustrations dropped his voice to a deeper tone. He shifted slightly against the detective so they were flush, and wrapped his good arm back a bit, so his fingers were dancing across the skin on his hip, just above the low riding pyjama bottoms. Nothing.

Sherlock continued talking, describing in detail how the three women had been buried in their own vehicles and who committed the crime, and when John had finished making their tea he scooped his up and returned to the sitting room to open a new file. He wasn't pushing John away, that was the worst part, he was being more affectionate than ever, there just didn't seem to be any sexual drive there.

By the fourth day John was becoming worried. He had spent most of the last two days purposefully teasing Sherlock, trying to catch his attention in any way with no avail.

It had started small. Bending over directly in front of the detective, or making a small groan of pleasure when he'd sip his tea. When none of that worked, he'd moved on to less subtle things like eating phallic foods almost sinfully in front of the curly headed man. But Sherlock stayed ridiculously oblivious, even when he rocked his hips against him in bed. The taller man had just taken it as a cue for tighter cuddling. It was absolutely maddening.

Perhaps the detective was growing bored of their relationship, although that didn't explain his constant need for physical contact, which had only become increasingly more insistent.

John had almost given up on trying to seduce Sherlock, and had been sitting on the sofa, bowed over his computer which was perched on his knees, when the detective clambered up behind him to sit on the back of the sofa. A small groan escaped his lips as the sharp knees pressed against his sides, but the detective quickly adjusted so John was nestled between them before leaning forward, his arms draped over the doctors shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock's voice held his normal curiosity, as if there was nothing odd about how he'd been acting, but John's patience was wearing thin.

"I'm updating our blog, trying to find us a case that will get us out of this bloody flat." His voice was strained, but he set the laptop on the coffee table and leaned back into the detectives touch. His voice softened slightly as laid a hand over Sherlock's, pressing the cool fingers against his chest. "What in the world are you doing?"

"I'm sitting behind you John." He replied simply. Leaning forward he pressed the side of his head to the top of John's. the past few days had been hell for the detective. The night of their fight, he'd suddenly become very aware of how little they actually touched outside of sex and now he felt like he couldn't get enough of it. Sex had been the furthest thing from his mind as he had been doing some research while John slept at night about the importance of physical touch in a relationship. Like anything else he did, the detective took it to an extreme.

"Does it bother you?"

"No.." John started, feeling the last few days crash over him. "I mean... I'm enjoying the intimacy, but it's not very you. What's with the sudden change? I don't know if this is some sort of payback for the stunt I pulled, but really that was one night, this is getting ridiculous." He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the detectives body against his. He was acutely aware of each place their bodies touched.

The detective was silent for a moment, trying to decipher his meaning, was his increase in physical touch a payback for John attempting to force him to see his mother? No matter the angle he looked at it, it didn't make sense.

"What do you mean? How could my increase in physical contact be considered a punishment if you like it?" He sounded genuinely puzzled, "all the research I've done suggests that a person will leave a relationship if physical contact is not an avid part in everyday living. I'm merely trying to keep you interested so that you will refrain from leaving..." He trailed off not really willing to add in the rest of his thought process.

John normally melted into his embrace, but that night he'd been indifferent. It had been the closest thing to being emotionally hurt Sherlock had ever felt, and it still sent a searing tingle of nausea through his stomach to think about it. He didn't ever want to feel that again, and in a way, he wondered if he had been keeping John at arm's length by pulling him so close that he couldn't hurt him again, even if it hadn't been intentional.

"Oh for the love of-"

John was done. He was utterly finished dancing around Sherlock trying to get his attention. Pulling from the detectives grasp he quickly turned, guiding Sherlock down by the shoulders, a bit rougher than entirely necessary, so he was sitting on the sofa. Before he had a chance to fully work out what was happening John was straddling his lap, one hand laced tightly through his thick curls pulling his head back so they were nose to nose.

Sherlock's eyes were wide as the smaller man practically shoved him down on the couch. There was a slight pain when his head was wrenched back, but it wasn't unpleasant.

"I am very interested," Pulling softly on Sherlock's hair John arched his neck back to nip up it softly, beginning at his collar bone, until he reached his earlobe. His lips were brushing Sherlock's ear as he growled out the next words. "So. For the last time Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere."

John relaxed the hand in Sherlock's hair slightly and he pulled back, an utter feral look in his eyes as they met the green in front of him. A devilish grin broke across his face as he brushed his nose against the detectives. "I need you in the bedroom. Now." It was as if there were different sides to John. There was the doctor, his blogger, and then there was Captain John Watson. It wasn't often that this side presented itself, but when it did there was no mistaking it.

His shoulders rolled back, making him slightly taller so his body emanated confidence. But of course it was the tone of his voice that really affected Sherlock.

A visible shiver went through Sherlock's body at the sound of that voice. It screamed obey or suffer the consequences. And while every part of the detective's being wanted to submit to this new and exciting side of John, he also liked the danger in the undertones of his voice. His hands had fallen to John's hips when he'd started in on the taller man's pale throat, and now they squeezed tightly.

"If I refuse?" He licked his lower lip almost nervously. Now that he did the math it had been a while since they'd done anything sexual and he'd probably driven John crazy by it. But if this were the result, Sherlock promised to drive him mad more often. Captain John Watson was new in this aspect, and Sherlock could tell he was going to thoroughly enjoy himself no matter what happened.

John chuckled darkly as his free hand skirted down the detectives front, slipping his hand under the hem of his shirt to tease along the waistline of his trousers. Leaning forward a bit he spoke again, his voice was lower and even more commanding.

"Not an option."

He caught Sherlock's lips before he could voice a rebuttal, a deep greedy kiss fueled by his own desire, before pulling away and moving toward the bedroom without a second look back. Once in the bedroom, John had half a moment of panic. All of their previous sexual encounters had been initiated by Sherlock, not because John wasn't interested, but because that was part of how their relationship worked. Up until this point John had been too cautious to push for anything, rather taken whenever the opportunity presented itself. His fears were quickly brushed away as he heard bare feet making their way towards the bedroom.

Sherlock had been taken utterly by surprise when John had been so forceful, but by the time he made it to the bedroom, he was rock hard and his body was begging for more than the greedy kiss John had taken.

His hands were down to his side as he entered the room, and he stopped when he found John still standing and not on the bed like he had expected. Although he'd done power play with one or two of his previous sexual partners, this was completely different, and he knew John was getting off on commanding him as much as he was at being told what to do. Having complete control over his mind at all times was a necessity, but having some of that control forcefully taken away from him was exciting him beyond compare.

He raised an eyebrow slightly as he leaned against the door jamb, waiting for instruction.

When the footfalls stopped in the doorway John's eyes slowly ran up the detective, taking in his appearance. It took a moment for him to realize Sherlock was waiting, and the realization sent excited thrill through his body. Squaring his shoulders John turned cocking his head to the side as he licked his bottom lip.

"Inside. Close the door." In comparison, most of John's experiences with other partners had been rather vanilla. It wasn't news that he was enjoying their game, his casual relationships simply hadn't allowed for him to explore it in the past. He could feel his arousal quickly growing at the thought of Sherlock relinquishing himself like this.

Sherlock stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. Once inside, he stood, his feet slightly spread, and fingertips pressed together in front of him. He could see how much this was exciting John and it seemed to spur Sherlock on as well.

John crossed the small space between them in a few steps so he was directly in front of the other man. He knew Sherlock was waiting for the next command, but he waited a moment, letting the tension, and question of what he'd say next, build between them.

"Clothes," He tugged on the pocket of Sherlock's jeans as if to emphasize his displeasure with them, John could only manage short statements, he felt almost dizzy from the high of endorphins. "Off." And when he saw Sherlock slowly complying, one arduous button at a time, John quickly rid himself of his own clothing as he moved to stand behind him.

It wasn't often that so few words could turn him on so completely, but he supposed with John anything and everything was possible. When his fingers slipped the last button, he let the shirt slide down his arms, resting in the crook of his elbows as long fingers began working on his belt and pants. He let the jeans fall off his thin hips once the fastenings we're opened to reveal the fact that he hadn't worn pants that day. He stepped out of them and let the shirt fall off his arms before crossing them and sinking back into a hip. He smirked lightly at John as if to say challenge accepted, what next?

He noticed the smaller man had quickly divested himself of his own clothing, and letting his eyes run up John's body he wondered which of them was harder from the experience.

John hadn't been sure what his next moves would be, but then Sherlock flashed that smart smirk and something else took over. It surprised him that this was the first time he'd been in control of what they were doing, but he was planning on taking advantage of it. Before the evening was out he'd have the bastard gagging for it.

With both of them stark naked John felt considerably calmer. His eyes darted towards the bed as he spoke, mirroring the detectives challenge, "Lie down."

Sherlock's lips curled upwards in a grin. They both had a penchant for danger and he knew several things about the man before him than would make his next statement very fun. His eyes traveled up and down the John's frame once more before his eyes traveled to the bed. He sniffed at it haughtily before turning back to John. His eyes hard and defiant.

"Make me." He said.

John was only slightly surprised by the detectives defiance, and even more surprised by his own quick reaction. "With pleasure," he growled, catching Sherlocks wrists and pinning them in the small of his back with one hand. The bed was no longer in the forefront of his mind as he pushed Sherlock back, pinning him against the closed door.

Sherlock let out a small noise of surprise. He'd expected to be thrown down on the bed, but the older man had reacted so swiftly, he hadn't been able to preemptively deduce his actions. He twisted his hands in the small of his back, testing how tight the man's grip was, and was surprised by what he found. He couldn't move much at all. He could probably break John's grip if he really tried, but he would have to put forth a lot of effort. Looking down, he watched the other in awe of the power he somehow forgotten John had.

Keeping the thin wrists caught in his hand John began greedily working his way down the Sherlock's chest. Starting just below his collarbone he began nipping hard enough at the pale skin that he knew there would be a lovely mark before they were through. He let his tongue trace across the mark before he moved down breathing hotly against one nipple and then the other.

His free hand traveled lower, careful to not do more than brush his member as he found the pronounced hip. His lips found a new, unmarred area below the opposite collarbone to leave his mark as his fingers traced the curve of Sherlock's hip, following the crease at his groin till his nails were dancing across the inside of his thigh. He could feel heat radiating off of Sherlock as he beamed down at his work on the pale chest.

Sherlock knew that John was feeling a little apprehension. This was new for them, probably totally new for John, and Sherlock wanted to ease his way into it. However, he didn't have to try very hard, as his body was responding quite well to the lack of control and the hungry possessive touches were driving him crazy.

"John..." he said breathlessly as the nails on his inner thigh made his cock twitch in anticipation. The desire to reach out and touch the doctor was overwhelming, but as he reflexively went to reach for him, his hands met the other man's strong grasp, and he let out a low desperate moan.

John's lips pulled into a small smile, loosening his grip slightly. He spoke in between light kisses along the detectives neck, tracing his path from earlier, up to his ear.

"Ready to listen now?" The words fell from his lips easily, as if he knew what they were doing. His hand traveled back up gripping Sherlocks hip tightly as he pressed up against him, rolling his hips slightly. John buried his face against the detectives neck at the motion, muffling the moan it produced.

Sherlock couldn't speak. That tantalizing hip roll had stolen the ability. He felt and heard the evidence of John's arousal, and pleasure tingled through him where their bodies touched. He wanted more, so much more, and at the moment the only way he would get it was by acquiescing.

He nodded, his hips canting back against John's in an effort to derive more of that delicious friction from the smaller man's body. His breath was coming hard and heavy in the blonde's ear and his fingers gripped the other's hand and his own forearms just to give them something to do to keep him from going totally insane by the mad teasing John was giving him.

John pressed into Sherlock once more, biting back the moan that followed, before relinquishing his hold on him. Taking a step back, attempting to even his breathing, he gave Sherlock the same challenging look from earlier as he gestured to the bed.

"Lie on your back with your feet spread apart." John had found his voice again, instincts seeming to take over where any hesitance had once been. He looked Sherlock over carefully, noting every detail.

His brows were knit together when John pulled away, and he let out a soft noise when cool air rushed over his body. However when the command was given, he didn't hesitate this time. Laying down longways on the bed so that his feet wouldn't hang over the edge, he let his hands rest on the mattress beside him, and spread his legs.

The position made his shaft jut out and curve back towards his stomach, tapping the tight muscles with the throb of his heartbeat. He was flushed starting from the hard member, and traveled up his chest in a trail up the center where it exploded over his neck and face. His eyes were cloudy as he looked up at the doctor. In that moment he wanted no more than to see a look of satisfaction cross John's face. His brows rose as if to ask.

Good enough?

As John's eyes swept up the flush skin, a pleasurable hum escaped his lips. He crept towards the bed slowly, keeping their gaze locked as he climbed over Sherlock, John's body hovering just above the his. John's hands Doug into the mattress on either side of is shoulders as he dipped down, placing a chaste kiss against his lips before slipping down the others body, nestling between his legs.

Part of Sherlock always running the show, meant the idea of switching roles during sex had never crossed their mind. Well, it hadn't crossed Sherlocks at least. John had thought about it many times. He'd been curious. Not many of his previous lovers had had much interest in giving head, but Sherlock.. Sherlock seemed to lose himself in giving John pleasure.

The commanding presence dropped as he studied the throbbing member curiously. His hands splayed out across Sherlock's thin hips, his thumbs brushing against the trimmed hairs. For someone who considers his body transport... John smiled wryly at the thought.

Sherlock swallowed thickly as John's body moved down his and settled between his legs. He'd never really thought about John doing this to him before. He grit his teeth and let his head push back into the pillows, fighting not to move his hands. He knew John hadn't told him not to touch him, but he had the distinct feeling if he did there would be consequences.

Those inquisitive fingers made the muscles in his legs twitch as he fought his body to keep from thrusting up against the lightest brush. The situation was definitely having an immense effect on him, and Sherlock wasn't sure if he loved or hated the tension that was growing just from having John look at him.

John was moving painfully slow, testing his own boundaries more than his partners. He breathed heavily against Sherlock, his own breath hitching at the effect he was having on Sherlock.

One hand gripped the base of his member lightly, the head bobbing precariously close to his lips. His breath shook slightly, a mixture of apprehension and excitement whirling through him as his eyes flitted up the pale body. He couldn't help but love having Sherlock like this, his entire body on edge, waiting for John to do something.

Licking his lips, and taking a deep breath, John leaned forward, taking Sherlock in slowly. He'd expected it to be different. More difficult, or uncomfortable, but he was surprised to find it wasn't, not enough to stop anyways. John's tongue explored the underside of the detectives shaft as he took in as much as he could without feeling overwhelmed.

The first feeling of warmth around the head of his throbbing member had been slight shock to Sherlock. His eyes had been closed and John had been teasing him for so long, that he half expected him to pull back and wag a finger at him. But as the inquisitive tongue moved around his shaft, he couldn't help a long low moan that poured from his mouth, his fingers twisting in the duvet beneath him.

There was something sinful about such a curious mouth doing something so naughty as giving Sherlock a blowjob, and yet he couldn't help but think that John's mouth had been made for this. His legs pulled back, cradling John's head with his thighs as he bent his knees. If he couldn't grab onto the short locks and thrust up into his warm mouth, touching him any way possible was the next best thing.

The new pressure against the side of his head encouraged John to keep moving. He pulled up, slowly, sliding his tongue along until just the head remained in his mouth. John was aware that his slow movements were probably driving Sherlock absolutely insane, but he was busy carefully cataloguing the detectives reactions, learning what touch sent him reeling.

Exploring the silky head he could taste the small amount of precum that had built up there, it was salty but not entirely terrible. Taking Sherlock back in John sucked softly, granting him a movement from the detective that assured him in his efforts. Picking up the pace John continued experimenting, changing the pressure, flicking his tongue around the head.

The experimental movements and touches were getting to be too much. Just the sight of John's head buried between his legs was enough to get him close, and he knew he had to stop this before his orgasm crept up on him. His thighs pressed tighter against the doctor's face as he leaned up on his elbows.

"If you keep on like that I won't be very useful to you..." He was breathless as he spoke, still wary to reach out and touch the smaller man. Just then a particular roll of the blonde's tongue hit the sensitive area just beneath the glans and he found a husky moan falling from his lips as his head fell back, hair tickling his neck as his body shivered with pleasure.

"John... Please." The last word was almost a whisper.

John pulled away slowly, letting the heavy member fall from his lips where it bobbed against the taut stomach. He was mesmerized for a moment, the sight of Sherlock writhing beneath him was almost too much. John moved up his body slowly, so he was straddling Sherlock's hips, the detectives member pressing against him.

Reaching to the bedside table he fished a small bottle from the drawer. As he popped it open he spoke, his tone demanded to be obeyed, "You've done very good at keeping your hands to yourself." His voice was like a purr. Coating his fingers in the lube he reached behind them, stroking Sherlock slowly a few times before hastily preparing himself. "I'm going to ride you Sherlock, but if you move your hands from those sheets or if you start to cum without permission I will stop."

The words dripped with promise as he carefully positioned himself over Sherlock. The pressure of the slick member against him sent a small shiver up Johns spine. He moved slowly, the lack of real preparation made it burn slightly, but it quickly faded into pleasure as he took all of Sherlock's length. A soft groan ripped through him as his muscles relaxed enough to begin moving.

John leaned forward to press his hands into the mattress, his own member brushing against Sherlock's stomach with his thrusts. Sherlock let out a deep groan, and had to twist his fingers in the duvet to keep them from reaching for him.

However, when John began to really move, his hips bucked up into him, and his hands shot to John's hips, pulling him down to grind their hips together.

The reaction was instant. Even though the lack of contact pulled a deep moan from John, he pulled off of Sherlock, grabbing his wrists and pinning them back against the mattress. "What did I say?" His breath was heavy and rapid, he hadn't fully expected to be tested. He really hadn't expected the defiance to make his heart beat out of his chest in excitement.

Sherlock let out a sound that was dangerously close to a whimper, and tried to tame the need to grab the doctor's hips and slam him back down on his cock by force. "You... just.. " he was breathless, "I couldn't help it." he finished lamely, eyes taking on the look John had once deemed his puppy dog face. He made a point to wrap his hands in the blankets tighter so it would be harder for him to get them free, trying to show John he was willing to try again.

Relaxing his hold on Sherlock's wrists he nudged his face to the side, dragging his lips along the detectives jaw line before whispering into his skin. "Good. When I tell you to come you can touch me. You just have to control yourself till then."

He didn't have to move as slowly as before, lining himself up with Sherlock he pressed down, moaning as he felt himself being filled again. It didn't take long to find an angle that left them both gasping and moaning into each other.

Sherlock was hard pressed to keep his hands to himself. Normally he had free reign to mold John's body to pleasure it and himself, but there was something glorious about his body being used purely for John's pleasure at the moment that was driving him insane. As John moved he became increasingly vocal, also unusual for him.

The only thing he could do was thrust up against the doctor slightly, hoping for another squeeze of his muscles or particularly deep thrust. His head was thrown back and to the side, teeth biting on the cloth balled up in his fist, his back arched beautifully off the bed as he let go and let himself feel John riding him. With each movement he was getting closer to the edge until he heard himself crying out.

"John... I'm... "he couldn't form coherent words, but he was sure the doctor would catch his meaning as his eyes screwed up in pleasure, his stomach muscles clamping down trying to stave off the orgasm that was rapidly baring down on him.

John wasn't far behind, pleasure quickly pooling in his abdomen, and the detectives desperate cries were just enough to push him over the edge. Letting out a deep moan his head dropped, words spilling from his lips frantically, "Ye-yes Sherlock. Come on. Now."

He was practically growling as he brought their bodies together, pinning his own member between their sweat slicked bodies. Any amount of control John had held up until now quickly dissipated as his thrusts became quick and erratic. His entire body began tensing as he buried his face against the others neck.

"Now."

It was supposed to be a command, but the desperation in John's voice made it sound as if he was the one begging for release.

It had been hard to keep himself together when John started to spasm around him, but when that voice commanded him, sounding a little desperate he lost it. His body arched up hard against the bed, his hands flashing out to grip at the smaller man's back to pull him down tighter, as the doctor spilled out between them. A cry wrenched from his lips as he came harder than he ever remembered.

For one long moment, it felt like time stood still, his body taught as all his muscles clenched. Then the world came rushing back, and they collapsed into a quivering heap of detective and doctor. When Sherlock regained the ability, his hands rubbed in slow calming circles and he kissed the older man just above his ear.

"You John Watson, are an extremely interesting man."

John chuckled softly against Sherlock's neck, too spent to pull away. "Surprised myself a bit honestly. Was it.." The question hung in the air. In the moment everything had made sense, it had been instinctual, and now as they lay wrapped in each other, an absolute hot mess, he was able to reflect on the entire encounter.

He had never thought himself to be interested in anything particularly kinky, but he supposed it made sense with Sherlock. He became bored with just about everything in time, and frankly if this sort of power play kept him interested John didn't mind in the least. The fact that this had began as an argument had completely left his mind.

"Was that all alright?" He said softly, finally deciding how to word the question.

"John that was quite a bit more than alright." he kissed the doctor's head and tightened his arms around him. "I may be tempted to rile you up more often if this is the result I'll get." He chuckled breathlessly, and pulled John into his side, and reached down grabbing a blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and pulled it over them. He'd needed to wash his bedding soon anyway.

John considered arguing with that point, he did not want the detective purposefully working him up, but he'd be lying if he tried to say he didn't want it to happen again. He settled for a noncommittal growl as he pressed a kiss to the bruised collarbone.

Heaving a deep, bone rattling sigh, Sherlock pulled the man close up against him, and nuzzled into his hair. "So we go visit Mummy this weekend for her birthday." he said softly, "I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that Mycroft is bringing Lestrade, so you won't be the only one there. However, Mummy does love a good party, so you'll need a tuxedo. Her events are always black tie. She's going for some sort of ball this year. ' His fingers lazily drew on John's shoulder as he spoke.

"Thank god. I'd hate to be cooped up with you and your brother for too long. Do try not to goad him too much." He relaxed against the detectives hands, his voice was thick and drowsy. Closing his eyes he went on without waiting for a response. There was no real chance at that sibling rivalry dying.

"So what does your mum know about us? I mean.. Flatmates? Friends?" It wasn't as if they were particularly secret about their relationship, if people didn't know it was only because the couple didn't act much different in public than the had before. Their few friends knew, but nothing official had actually been established, just an unspoken understanding that they belonged to each other and no one else.

Sherlock hummed in a soft chuckle, "Considering I never really had friends growing up, and you're the first person I'll have ever brought to meet her, I'm sure she'll know there's something different about you." He looped one leg through John's feeling rather possessive of his blogger at the moment.

"However I'm sure of several other things that will point her in the right direction. One, Mycroft has no doubt told her about his relationship with Lestrade and he is probably bringing him to meet mummy for the first time this weekend. Two Mummy is very bright comparatively, I'm sure that when she meets you, she'll sense the intrigue and attraction between us fairly quickly if not immediately. She has a way of seeing straight through you, albeit in a different way than I do. and Third, I'm fairly sure Mycroft has told her we're sleeping together. I'm told he keeps her quite up to date on all my affairs since I see her so little."

"That's good." he mumbled softly as he pressed closer to Sherlock, far too spent and exhausted to formulate a real response.

Sherlock knew his mother would take the news just fine and had probably been waiting eagerly to properly meet John since they'd gotten together, although he hadn't intended it to be so soon. He still wasn't sure of the finality of their relationship, and if something happened to them after she'd met John, he wasn't sure she'd ever forgive him.


	7. Drove Me Wild

John stared at his reflection in the mirror in their room. Pulling at the third button down shirt he'd tried on he grimaced. He hadn't been particularly nervous about meeting 'Mummy Holmes', again, but as the day got closer his anxiety got worse. Now he had tried on three full different outfits, had half a bag packed, and was sure Sherlock was going to murder him if he didn't hurry up.

Letting out a defeated sigh he dropped the last few things he needed into the overnight bag on the bed, grabbed the garment bag that held his formal wear, and made his way out into the sitting room to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his hands pressed together under his chin. His bag, already packed, was sitting next to him.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked, not even looking at John, "Or did you want to try on a fourth outfit?" The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile as he stood and finally looked at John. "Mummy will like you no matter what, especially since we're coming on her birthday. I've told you it doesn't matter what you wear. Don't go diva on me now." He cupped the back of John's neck and pressed a small kiss to his forehead.

"You're one to talk." John teased, adjusting the detective's collar. "Besides, it's not just your mum I'm meeting." Part of visiting Sherlocks mother meant the detective had brought back one of his suits rather than the new attire he'd taken to wearing. It also meant that the silk purple button up was back.

The last time John had seen him in that particular shirt it had hung off his thin frame dangerously, but the last few months had been good for the detective. Other than the obvious improvement of getting off the drugs, he'd also, at John's insistence most days, began eating and sleeping more regularly. Toying with the strained buttons he smiled back up at the detective, it was a nice visual reminder that things had really improved.

"I do love this shirt." John said, pressing his hand flat against his chest.

Sherlock's fingers came up and curled around the hand on his chest. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of John's ear as he spoke, "Why do you think I wore it?" He pulled away with a smirk to observe the doctor's reaction before turning away to locate his suitcase.

"Are you finally ready to go? The car Mycroft sent has been waiting for almost half an hour."

Pulling his own bag up on his shoulder John started for the door. They were only staying for the night, but it didn't surprise him that Sherlock had managed to fill a small suitcase.

"You weren't ready when the car got here either." he quipped as he started down the steps knowing Sherlock would be right behind him.

Sure enough the familiar black car was waiting for them at the curb outside of 221b. Slipping into the backseat John mumbled a small apology for the wait at the driver while Sherlock stowed their bags in the boot of the car. Not a moment later he sat down next to John, their hands instantly intertwining

The back seat was spacious, and Sherlock found his interest piqued when the car pulled away from the curb. The drive would take a while, a few hours at least, and with this much room, his imagination was running rampant. He glanced around the car and found exactly what he was looking for. His rare smile broke out over his face as he leaned back into the plush seat. He'd give John a while before he put his plan into action.

They sat together for a while, their hands just resting on the seats, and they were well out of London, out in the countryside when he decided he'd made himself wait long enough. His arousal had grown the longer he thought about it, and he wasn't sure if John hadn't noticed or was just ignoring it. Either way it didn't matter. Pressing the button that rolled the tinted partition up, he caught a knowing glance from the driver in the rear view mirror and received a wink just as the partition slid into place.

The detective let the partition stay up for a while, waiting to see what John would say, if he'd said anything at all.

John watched Sherlock lean back into the seat, a look on his face that screamed he was about to do something dangerous or exciting. Licking his lips in anticipation John nodded towards the partition that had just been rolled up. It was pitch black on this side, and considering this was one of Mycroft's vehicles, it only made sense that it would be the top of the line in privacy.

"What's that about?" John asked, his ears already turning a bright shade of pink. He purposefully looked out the window, avoiding the green eyes that were sure to be boring down on him.

Sherlock took the opening and reached out, his left hand circling John's waist and, pulling him back against the his chest. His right snatched one of the doctor's hands and pulled it until it was palm down against the hot hardness in his pants.

"I figured you'd appreciate the privacy when you swallowed my cock." He'd quickly found out in the past few months that talking dirty like this would leave John rather open to suggestion considering he was so poised with his speech normally. He used it in times like this when the other man might have reservations against what they were doing, like the one time he'd wanted to experiment with peanut butter.

"I can always roll it back down if you'd like an audience." His teeth nipped at the other man's earlobe.

John's mouth quickly went dry, but there was no hesitation as he began stroking Sherlock through the strained cloth. Part of him was utterly terrified of doing anything so public, but, the idea of defiling the back of Mycroft's vehicle was quite enticing. The deep voice sent a small shiver through his body and he pressed back into the detective.

"I'd much rather keep you to myself, thanks."

Turning so he could catch Sherlock's mouth before he could offer any other smart remark, John kissed him deeply. He didn't want to give Sherlock the opportunity to convince him of voyeurism as well.

Switching hands as he turned John rubbed Sherlock through his trousers for a few more moments before he started unclasping them and pulling at the zipper. Tearing their mouths apart after a small nip to the others bottom lip John gave him a fleeting hungry look. It had been a few days since the first time he'd done this, which was plenty of time for him to become more comfortable and versed in the act.

"If Mycroft has this car bugged you'll be the one paying for it." His eyebrows raised with his teasing threat as he pulled away and settled himself in front of the detective. His fingers looped under the waistband of Sherlock's trousers and pants, tugging softly to release his throbbing member from their confines.

The threat made him chuckle until the cool air against his heated skin made him suck in a hissing breath. One hand moved to the back of John's head, not urging but simply finding a place to rest as he spoke.

"Forgive me for not trembling. Any punishment you derive only bears the suggestion to be something overwhelmingly pleasurable for both of us." His voice was deep and husky, his eyes jaded as he looked down at the older man, kneeling in the back seat, staring at his cock hungrily. He gave a small roll of his hips that caused the head of his member to brush against john's cheek.

"And now that I know how absolutely sinful your mouth is, I'm hard pressed not to keep my cock there at all times..."

John tutted softly, as if Sherlock had said something a bit not good, but the small smile that pulled at his lips as he rocked on his heels begged to differ. John held a certain amount of pride in his abilities, so hearing the seductive praise coming from Sherlock made his confidence soar.

Running his parted lips down the detectives shaft John breathed hotly against it. His eyes darting up to meet green as he felt Sherlock twitch in anticipation. Working his way back up he ran his tongue along the underside, swirling around the head slightly before parting his lips and taking Sherlock in his mouth with a small hum.

There was something extremely arousing about locking eyes with John as those lips stretched around the shaft, and he let out a small groan, afraid to break eye contact and dilute the moment. His fingers tightened on the back of John's neck as hips canted up into his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to hold the blonde down and fuck his mouth without abandon, but he restrained himself.

"Oh John," he whispered softly, "Your mouth is exquisite." his hand smoothed over the other man's hair as he spoke. He knew John was effected by the sound of his voice, and he decided to try an experiment. "Do you like having my cock in your mouth?" he asked, his baritone rumbling through his chest.

The obscene question sent waves of pleasure straight to John's groin. He moaned as he hollowed his cheeks, sucking, taking Sherlock a bit deeper than before. The deep throaty sounds emanating from him vibrated along the cock in his mouth in response to Sherlocks question. One hand gripped Sherlock's hip, while the other began teasing at his balls, rolling them in his hand as he sped up his languid pace.

There was a definite flush creeping up on John's cheeks. Between Sherlock's alluring voice and the fact that he was getting him off in the back of a moving car John was finding it difficult to think of anything other than the task at hand. His mind spinning in a hot mess of endorphins.

Sherlock's breath was coming faster but the naughty statements and questions never stopped, even as his voice became husky and deep the longer he spoke. "You do. You'd like it up your arse right now too." He leaned forward, curling his body so that he could almost whisper in John's ear.

"You'd like to be in my lap riding me right now. In fact I'm sure if I asked you'd drop your trousers right now and fuck yourself on me like your life depended on it." His fingers ghosted down to the base of his neck then back up to tangle in his short hair, forcing his member even further into the delicious heat. "So wanton John..." the condescending tone was almost a growl as he let another moan fall from his lips.

The sudden force reminded John to breath through his nose. He kept Sherlock there for a moment, swallowing around the cock pressing to the back of his throat. Moaning greedily, Sherlock's words making his own member twitch with desire, he pulled back so just the tip remained. Running his tongue around it slowly he tasted the building arousal there.

Part of him considered working painfully slow until Sherlock did insist on taking him right here in the back of the car, but the little bit of his mind that was still working told him he wasn't ready for that. God forbid someone see them somehow. He began working faster, urging Sherlock along as he sucked and teased him, taking him a bit deeper with each bob of his head.

Sherlock felt his hips bucking up into John's mouth with each bob of his head and his own brows knit together at the sensation of having that tight wetness work over his shaft. His head fell back against the seat as his hand rest heavily on the back of the doctor's head. Absently he reached into his pants pocket with his left hand and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it down to the man between his knees, and grit his teeth against another loud moan before he finally spoke once more.

"Touch yourself for me John." He said, "It may be tonight before I can reciprocate, and believe me when I say I will be fucking you into my mattress." His words were gravelly as he raised his head to look down into a pair of bright blue eyes.

John slowed down a bit, fumbling with the button of his trousers. He moaned around Sherlock's member as he finally grasped himself. He was already precariously close, Sherlock's promise rang out in his ears delightfully. Taking the handkerchief and carefully wrapping it over the head of his cock with one hand John resumed his previous motions, moving his hand and mouth in time together.

His movements became more erratic as his breathing shortened, moaning readily against the detective.

Sherlock's breath was coming quicker, his hands tightening and releasing in John's hair and on the edge of the seat. He could see the motion of the smaller man's hand over his cock and groaned at the sheer sinfulness of this entire ordeal. He filed away the obvious effect his words had on John away for later use.

Feeling his testicles tightening and drawing up against his flesh he knew it wouldn't be long. John had become very skilled in the past few days. "Yes John... I'm about to..." his breath left his chest in a rush as the other's tongue swept under the sensitive head and he was gone, releasing himself into the doctor's mouth with a low groan that seemed to draw out forever.

John swallowed thickly as his own pleasure peaked, causing him to groan around the cock still pulsing in his mouth. It was utterly sinful, and John loved it. As the last few shudders of his orgasm ripped through him he pulled off of Sherlock, sucking softly as he did just to watch the detective shiver under him again.

Wiping the bit of spit and cum that had dripped from the corner of his mouth away with the back of his hand John leaned back on his heels, resting his cheek on Sherlock's clothed knee. The soft fabric made his skin tingle slightly, his nerves still careening from the orgasm. He didn't move back to his seat quite yet, but he did fix his trousers after wiping himself clean with Sherlock's handkerchief.

"You were rather..." John blushed slightly at the recent memory, and how intensely it had affected him "Uhm.. Vocal."

"And you loved it." He smirked as he tucked himself back into his pants, making himself presentable once more before plucking the handkerchief out of John's hands and tucking it back in his pocket. He pulled on John's arms letting the smaller man's hips settle between his legs, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around John's torso. Pressing a light kiss to his forehead, he shifted them until they were quite comfortable in the seat, leaving the partition up for a while so they could regroup.

"I never said I didn't," John assured him, leaning back against Sherlock. "I just… You've been very creative lately. Not that I don't like it, I mean I do, you know I do. I just never took you to be this-"

"Sexual?"

"Yes. I mean, what happened to it all being transport? or whatever it is you say?"

"You're worried I'm doing these things for you, and not because I enjoy sex?"

John pulled himself from Sherlock's arms so he could turn to face him. His lips pulling to one side as he shrugged and nodded all at once, encouraging Sherlock to answer the question he hadn't been able to voice.

"During my years at University, I was like any normal person at that age. I did seek out the company of others for my bed out of curiosity and a need to feel wanted. However, when I saw that no matter how explicit I was in telling my partners that I did not want any sort of relationship, one always seemed to start to form from their side. Once it began interfering with my success, I swore it off for a long while. Since then save for a few occasions, long before we met, I had neither the time or desire for such relations. I then met Lestrade, and he kept me fairly busy until I then met you."

"Right," John said softly, nodding in understanding before his brows furrowed, his attention snapping back. "Wait.. What?"

"However John, all of that said, whatever notions you have that I do not enjoy our trysts, you should delete it from your mind. I quite enjoy having sex with you in any way that I can. Surely you didn't think that as easily as I get bored with things I wouldn't be this creative? The only reason I have been celibate is because there simply was no place for it in my busy life. And as you like to challenge me with my previous statements, I will save you the time in asking. I say women are not my area because they tend to get attached too quickly and are far too whiny when you are honest with them. Men do tend to take honesty better, and are much sturdier for the type of sex I typically enjoy. Therefore, my body is just a vessel for my mind, but John, the endorphins released in sex are perfect brain fuel, and as we both enjoy it, quite immensely, I don't see why you should carry on with these silly thoughts that I am having sex with you purely for your benefit. I'm much too selfish for that, on this I think we can both agree."

"Yeah," John chided, relaxing and leaning back into Sherlock. "I can definitely attest to you being a selfish arse."

He chuckled softly, nuzzling closer to Sherlock now that those thoughts weren't looming over him.

"We still have a two hour drive ahead of us, so feel free to sleep if you need." Sherlock said softly as John relaxed into him, "You'll have quite a big night, so I would take the chance while you have it." His tone suggested he was talking about more than just the dinner and dancing with his mother and her guests.

John's eye's quickly fell closed, grateful for a couple hours of sleep to quiet his minds reservations about the impending party. Within minutes his breathing slowed and he drifted off to sleep, leaving Sherlock to sink back into his mind for the rest of the ride.


End file.
